Rebirth of the Lion
by Brazilian Sith Lord
Summary: The Kingdom of Macedonia is at its lowest period in history, and Perseus, son of Deukalos, will be the center of a turnaround in history. CHAPTER 2 UP.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own this.**

**Rebirth of the Lion**

**Chapter 1 – A flicker of greatness**

A peaceful haze fell upon the Thracian hills. The weather seemed to predict the events about to unfold, the blood about to be shed. Aphrodite wept. Ares smiled.

The golden age of Macedon has long since passed. The Argeard sun shone no light upon the throne of Pella. The blood of Phillip and Alexander is either lost, or too thinly spread to actually mean anything. The city of Rome, once scoffed and laughed at, was a power on the rise, its legions fast advancing through northern Italy. The seas were ruled by the Carthaginian navy, the sands by the Egyptian descendents of Ptolemy, and the woodlands by Celtic barbarians. Thrace and Dacia look with hungry eyes upon the Macedonian throne, and to the south the Greek cities conspire to end the Kingdom's influence over their affairs. And still, Macedonia could only blame herself for such dark times.

Age has turned the once revered warrior, King Antigonos, into an obsessed and senile man. His fear of losing his crown drove him to madness. One night, he summoned his two potential heirs, Eolos, his son, and Deukalos, his nephew, to his court, and everyone believed the king would resign. They were wrong. As the two men entered the room, they were greeted by the heads of a dozen Macedonians, hanging from the marble ceiling. Every single bastard son of Antigonos had perished in what would be known for the following generations as the 'Headless Night'. The King had made his warning: their blood relations would not stand in the way of his throne. A threat, and the fate of Eolos and Deukalos would be the same as of his bastard sons.

But these events occurred three years before, in Pella, hundreds of miles away from the distant Thrace we now focus on. In fact, these lands were not even within Macedonian borders at the time, and our hero, Perseus, son of Deukalos, was but twelve years old.

But now he is fifteen, and Antigonos is dying.

The old monarch was no longer able to speak, nor was he able to walk. The Hellenic doctors' prognostics give him, at best, a month or two. Eolos, being his son, was the natural successor. Unfortunately for the aristocrat, long it has been since the natural order was obeyed on Macedon.

Eolos had the aristocracy by his side. He would be king of political favors and alliances. It was clear to every member of the court that Eolos would have but a single goal throughout his impending rule: The keeping of his crown.

Deukalos, on the other hand, had the support of the Macedonian Army, and the support of the mighty phalanx was not something to be taken lightly. Antigono's nephew was the main responsible for the kingdom's expansions into Thracian lands. Bylazora, which had fallen into rebel hands almost fifty years before, had been retaken. It was now a thriving Hellenic city, a gateway into vacant lands within the newly conquered territories. Thousands of retired hoplites settled on the lands north of the city gates. With them, came merchants, artisans and performers.

But once again, the city is not our focus, for the war occurs more than seventy miles to the north.

Perseus' sandals hurriedly tapped through the muddy ground of the Macedonian camp. His lessons for the day had ended not five minutes earlier, yet the youth realized that if he did not hurry, he would be late for his evening meal with his father's officers. He walked into his tent, screaming for his slave boy, Godrix, a young Celt, to prepare his bath. He removed his wine-colored tunic and walked into his room, meeting the gaze of his long time friend and instructor, Massilus. The man rose from his wooden seat, and chuckled at the startled look of his young protégé. "Careful not to overtire yourself, young Master… You would not want to faint before you reach the mess hall…"

The young man smirked "Please, Massilus… I am not an old and fragile Samnite such as yourself…" He said, stepping into the wooden tub, filled with warm water. Godrix entered the room, hurriedly carrying a bucked filled with boiling water. The Macedonian motioned the boy closer "Hurry, my friend, into the tub, or I will be late…"

"You are Deukalos' son…" The old instructor said, stepping out of the tent and into the cold rain. He stopped halfway through and turned to look "They'll wait for you…"

Massilus' thoughts focused on the young man. If there was one thing in Deukalos' favor in the eyes of the Aristocracy, that thing was Perseus. Eolos and his wife, Thessa, had produced three daughters and the Macedonian woman was well past her time of motherhood. Pella's eldest households fought day and night for the hand of the firstborn, Larissa, a fine young miss, from what the Samnite had heard, but rather stubborn and headstrong. Still, it was no surprise the powerful sires looked more favorably at young Perseus. The young man seemed blessed by the Gods. His eyes were of a deep shade of brown that seemed almost black, which suited well his short auburn hair. His nose was straight, much as any true Greek's, and his face was lean and beardless. An infancy spent within barracks had given him a rather strong build, but his tall body, almost six feet tall at such young age, seemed leaner than a normal warrior's would be.

A rustle from a cloth made him turn, and before him stood the young heir, the young nobleman. His darkened leather breastplate, the old man knew, would soon have to be thrown out. He thought fondly of his now deceased son, and remembered the times of his own teens, when each armor or sandal had the lifespan of a bee. "Ready, young man?" He asked, patiently awaiting Perseus' black cape to be tied to his armor "I hear there are news from the Thracians… Word is, there's an army coming straight at us…"

"Joyful…" Perseus said, frowning "Let us hurry, then…"

The pair walked silently to the large leather tent near the center of the camp. It was a spartanly furnished room, with only a long wooden table and a map on a sheep's hide hanging from a wall. Perseus stared at the three seated men, who laughed and drank while telling old tales of war. Massilus coughed, and the three men rose. "Ah!" The first man, seated at the head of the table, smiled at the young Macedonian. His strong voice seemed to echo through the room "Young Master, we were waiting for you…"

"And now here I am…" Perseus said, untying the knot of his cape and handing it to a servant girl "And I hear your hunt today brought us a fine deer for dinner, good Xeones…"

"That it did, sire…" The bearded man, Xeones, was his father's first General. In his stead, he commanded the ten thousand soldiers within the camp. His father had been gone for close to a week now, gone for Bylazora, gone to assemble an army, for a war he knew would come. "But we have more pressing matters than our supper…"

"The army I heard of?" The young man asked, sitting himself at the opposite head of the table. The same slave girl as before brought him a mug filled with diluted wine. He smiled at her, and the flustered girl tripped her way out of the room.

"A Thracian force with close to twenty thousand warriors is approaching…"

"Warriors?"

Xeones smirked at the young man's doubtful frown "Twenty thousand souls… Eleven thousand warriors and the rest women and children…"

"Rebels?" He asked rather surprised "We're here discussing rebels?"

"We're here discussing your father's plans for you…"

Perseus raised an eyebrow "His plans?"

"You will fight this battle…" The second seated man, Gyras, spoke up "But you will do so with a sarissa on your hand…"

Perseus rose from his chair, startled "A sarissa! I shall fight on the phalanx?" He swallowed hard at the man's nod "Did he say why?"

"It's an important step to your education… A man is not a man until he has fought at a wall…"

"Gyras is right… Besides…" Xeones approached him, holding his shoulders "You've used a sarissa before…"

"On formation practice…" He sighed, already resigned at his role on the upcoming battle. His father had spoken, and to a youth as he was, his father's words were as laws "When are we supposed to march?"

"At dawn…" He turned, heading for the map of the northern border "They are but a few dozen miles to the north… We should meet them at noon, a few miles from the village of Berga…"

The young man shuddered, for he had never killed a man, and yet tomorrow he would. He would watch his enemies' faces writhe in agony as the edge of his spear pierced their stomachs. He finished his meal in silence, and left for his tent in the same manner. He knelt by his bed, before two small wooden figures, one of Ares and one of Alexander, and lit a small candle. His mind raced through his teachings, yet his heart was calmer. It was what he had been raised to do. All his life, he believed he would become a General, a leader of soldiers. Never once the prospect of becoming Prince of Macedon crossed his mind. He was the firstborn of a second son. He was a soldier, a warrior…

And tomorrow he would be a phalangite.

* * *

It was a hot day, and Perseus was relieved to see a large cloud covering the sun. His forehead was covered in sweat, and his shoulder ached with the weight of his sarissa. Two miles ahead, the Thracian rebels rallied themselves around a man riding a black steed. His long black beard wildly shaking as the man shouted orders and words of praise to his own men. His sword shone brightly as he ordered the Thracians into a rough line formation.

Perseus tightened the grip on his spear. The sarissa stood over fifteen feet tall, and the junior officer near the edge of his square voiced Xeones' orders: Spears down, march forward, and send the souls of that rebel scum to the pits of Hades. The square-leaders sounded the rhythm of their attack. Left foot advance, right foot follow, _left-right-left-right…_

Perseus risked a sideway glance and smiled at the sight of thousands of bronze shields moving together as his men advanced, shoulder to shoulder. Another shout, another order, and the men halted. Being in the first line, the young man let the full weight of his spear fall forward. His left arm stopped its fall, and all around him spears were pointed forward. Another shout, another march… _Left-right-left-right…_

Dust rose all around him, as thousands of feet hit the hard ground, and he could barely see the Thracian line. His mind was racing, his heart was beating faster than it had ever been in his entire life… He shouted "Alexander!" and his soldiers matched the shout. The ground shook before the might of the phalanx, and the faces of some foes were becoming visible through the dust cloud. His silver helm clouded his features, his bronze shield clouded his upper body… Now, he finally realized how his forefathers defeated the might armies of Persia. To a foe, a phalangite was not a man. It was a machine built with leather and bronze with the sole purpose of killing every single person before it. He saw anger in the face of some, and fear in the face of most. And then the first deaths took place.

No spear hit a foe, no sarissa was plunged forward. Arrows dropped from the skies and even though he could not see the field behind him, Perseus knew Xeones had ordered the Cretan mercenary archers to trail behind the phalanx. The bearded warrior screamed, and the entire Thracian line was ordered forward… But they hesitated…

Perseus' battle cry echoed through the thousands of bronze shields, and the entire phalanx line screamed with him… The square-leaders doubled their rhythmic shouts and the Macedonian line marched at its pace. At his left, he saw Gyras leading a cavalry unit in a flanking wedge.

It was then the first Macedonian died. A man a few yards to his right fell hard, face first on the battered dirt. Perseus narrowed his eyes, searching for the cause, until he saw it… Slingers…

He felt the urge to surge forward, to drop his spear, draw his sword and slay these cowards. He purged those thoughts from his mind, screaming once more and plunging his spear forward, hitting nothing but air. It had an effect, though, as the thousands of first line phalangites plunged their spears forward as well. Perseus noted with a smile as the first few foes began to retreat. Somewhere along the line, another man shouted.

A few Thracians ran at them, their faces filled with unrestrained anger. Perseus readied himself, as he saw a tall olive-skinned man rushing straight towards him. He shrugged, as he knew he'd be a preferred target. In the midst of bronze helmed men, silver shone brighter. With a determined effort, the young man pulled the sarissa back, before lunging it forward with both arms. His foe grimaced, and Perseus took a deep breath. The man growled furiously and fell forward, being held up by the young Macedonian's spear. It was a powerful blow, one that hit the Thracian just beneath the ribs, piercing the man's hard leather armor and plunging the spear's edge deeper into his abdomen and thorax. He pulled back the sarissa, seeing the dead man collapse against a short shrub of grass.

His first kill… He braced himself for his fallout, his heavy consciousness. Every teacher he had ever had taught him human life was ruled by the Gods, and the immediate sickness, the subsequent illness felt by a murderer was the Gods' way of showing their discontentment. The only exception, they said, was the warriors blessed by Ares himself.

Perseus felt nothing special. No malaise, no urge to vomit. It was a foe, he thought, running straight at him, with the sole purpose of ending his short stay on this earth. He felt no remorse, no emotion at all… Had Ares chosen him? Was the blood of the Warrior God flowing on his human veins? Perhaps, he thought… All his life, he had trained for this moment, and now that he had done it… He had killed… He saw a new horizon widening before him. Life was but a thread, a linen filament, and it was easily destroyed. Ares had granted him that power… A cold shiver went through his body, but it was not one of fear. All emotions ceased to affect him, and once again he plunged his spear forward. Again… And again… And again… The battle raged on, but before him, only threads appeared. He sliced through them with such indifference that he could not help but become baffled at his own work. He stared at the bloody battlefield. The Thracians fully assaulted the Macedonian phalanx. They came, wave after wave, and they died, wave after wave. Such was the life of a warrior.

The only Macedonian casualties had occurred through javelin throws and sling shots. A wall made of spear edges blocked the Thracian assaults, and their will began to waver. Slowly but steadily, the rebels retreated. A horn sounded in the distance, and orders were passed on through the officers. Sarissas were dropped, and swords were unsheathed. Perseus stepped forward and raised his steel sword.

"Alexander!" His men roared in return. He lowered his sword, pointing it to the Thracians "Forward!"

He ran straight at the enemy line, followed by thousands of bronze faced warriors. The Thracians panicked, and nearly half the line began to run away from the Macedonians. A hundred paces… He breathed through his mouth, his nostrils flared… Fifty paces… The shield tied to his left arm glistened with his own sweat. Thirty paces… He was upon them.

He roared as he saw the first foe raising its left arm, a short axe shaking wildly with his wrist. Perseus twirled away from the vertical blow, bringing his steel sword to the man's forearm. As the man held the stub that was his hand, the young Macedonian plunged his blade through his foe's throat. He pulled his sword free and rolled away, barely dodging a sword blow aimed at the back of his head. He slashed his attacker's knee, and stabbed the fallen man at the groin.

All his previous cold rational thoughts escaped him, and his blood boiled as he advanced, hacking his way through countless enemies. Disemboweling a foe, he turned to slash a man's jaw clear off his face. The Thracians screamed, the Macedonians slaughtered without rest… Perseus felt his knees tire, and only then did he realize the field was small hill, and he was nearing its peak. He slashed forward, going through foe after foe. His knees hurt and his legs were stinging. His left arm bled through a cut near the shoulder, and his helm had a small dent from a spear blow.

He hurriedly stared over the hill's peak, smiling at the sight of the rebel camp. He scoffed… The rebel leader, the bearded man atop the black horse galloped towards him. Perseus knelt down and grabbed a rock, staring readily at the approaching foe. The rebel screamed and raised his sword. The Macedonian rolled away from the blow's range, and as he rose he used his own weight to enhance the power of his throw. The rock hit the Thracian's shoulder, knocking his sword from his grip.

Perseus ran towards the bearded man. He pulled him out of the black steed and held his sword against his throat. "Your name, scum?" he demanded, in Greek. The rebel kicked his side and pushed him away. Perseus fell hard on his back, and at the very next second the Thracian's hands were around his throat. His lungs screamed for air, but the young man could draw none, as the rebel's knee was over his thorax. He desperately glanced around, searching for his weapon, but his sword laid more than three meters away. His right hand touched something uneven, something hard. Perseus puffed in relief upon seeing a rock on his battered palm. He punched the rebel in the nose and clashed the stone against the man's forehead.

The Thracian rolled away, and the young Macedonian rushed to his fallen sword. He grabbed its hilt, and for a while just stared at the disoriented barbarian. His foe's hateful glance brought a smile to his face. He turned his left towards the Thracian, held his sword behind the protection of the bronze shield, and advanced on the knelt rebel. The bearded man ran at him, and Perseus bashed his shield at the man's mouth. The man stepped back, and it was enough an opening for the young Macedonian's thrust. The blade cut through the Thracian's throat, and the blood that gushed out drenched the Macedonian's black tunic. His face was covered in a mix of sweat and blood, and his knuckles were red from the endless fighting. He breathed hard as he stared at the dying man. His mouth moved incoherently, desperately searching for air. It took more than five minutes for the man to die, and for the whole time, Perseus stared at the bearded foe, his gaze a mix of contempt and joy. Their leader was dead, killed by the young man's sword. Surely poets would write songs about his glories that day, surely his father would commend him. He inhaled deeply and stared around the outcome of this victory, his victory…

His confident smile disappeared the very next moment, for the battle still raged on, and Perseus heard the screams of women.

He stared at the rebel camp and cursed his waver of thought. He looked around, finding the Thracian's black steed slowly galloping away from the corpse of its master. Perseus jumped on the stallion and knocked his heels. The horse darted forward, and the Macedonian nobleman could hear the screams becoming louder and louder.

His steed rushed past the first few improvised tents, made with sturdy leather hides. "The next Macedonian that strikes these Thracians will be stoned at dusk!" He shouted. Soldiers turned from the slaughter to see their blood-bathed nobleman riding his dark stallion through their ranks. The beast fumed, and the man riding it seemed the vision of Ares himself "These are slaves that belong to the Macedonian army! They will be properly sold at the Market of Bylazora… But worry not…" He said, raising his bloodied sword "Each will get a fair share…"

He heard cheers and laughter, but in the distance, the all too familiar screech of a woman reached his ears. He grunted and turned his head to where the sound had come from, spurring his steed forward. He rode until he found a small clearing, a space filled with crates of the camp's supplies. There, the corpses of a couple laid bloodied on the grass, with a Macedonian soldier holding down a young girl. Perseus growled and spurred his horse forward, knocking the man off the innocent child. Her watery green eyes stared deeply into his dark brown ones. She was pale, fragile, and looked as if hadn't been fed in days. He angrily turned to the phalangite "I gave my men a direct order… One I expected them to follow…"

"Sir… She's but a rebel…" The man stuttered. Perseus' stare seemed taken by the fires of Hephaestus's forges "A slave…"

"A slave of Macedonia, a slave of the Argeads!" He fumed "Not a slave of yours…"

"Yes… Yes, sir… No slave of mine…" The soldier ran away, grabbing his shield and heading for the center of the camp. Perseus dismounted, approaching the frightened girl. She backed away, and despite her diminutive size, the Macedonian realized she wasn't a year younger than him. He raised his hand, a sign he meant no harm, and slowly closed the distance between them. He picked up the girl, carrying her to his stallion and mounting her before him. He forced the girl's head to rest against his bloodied shoulders. "Try to get some sleep… My quarters are not far away from here…"

He led his steed towards the companions, the Macedonian elite cavalry. It wasn't hard to find Gyras, the veteran soldier limped from a sling wound as a healer desperately chased the old man around the resting soldiers, a herbal solution on one hand and a small piece of cloth on the other. "Perseus, my boy!" He shouted, opening his arms to welcome the approaching rider. The healer sighed and thanked Apollo the wounded man had finally stopped walking "What a battle, eh? The kind of fight I love! They come, we slaughter!"

"Quite a learning process, General…" He said, dismounting. He led the horse closer to the General, the young girl still atop the animal. "I ask to be excused to return to the camp… I need to write a report to my father… I also need to tend to this girl's injuries…"

Gyras stared at the frail girl atop the stallion. Her pitch black hair was drenched in blood, but from what the General could tell, there were no injuries on her body. "Found a new pet?"

Perseus frowned, his harsh gaze seemingly piercing the old man's skull "I'm not one to own pets in the form of slaves, General… I own helpers, that is all…" He turned his back to the old General and once again mounted his newly acquired steed "Can I have my leave?"

Gyras smirked "Go ahead… Send my regards to your father… We are expecting a letter from him in the morrow, perhaps… We'll send your report through the same messenger…"

Perseus nodded and rode away. The wind gushed pass his speeding form, the freedom of that feeling was pleasant enough to the young man. To the slave girl against his chest, it was an exhilarating sensation. Never before had she know true freedom, never before had she known something other than endless servitude. She sighed and closed her eyes. She was not a rebel. She was not a young girl seeking her own freedom. Within that camp, she was a slave. The young Macedonian was wrong in believing that phalangite had killed her parents. He had killed her masters, her owners. And now this young nobleman was her new possessor.

She stared up at his face, bruised and swollen. He probably thought she didn't even know how to speak Greek. Once again she closed her eyes and leaned back on his leather chestplate. He was wrong. For Dove, the daughter of a Corinthian scribe, and taken as slave over twelve years before at a caravan raid, was smarter than she looked. She allowed herself to relax over the man's steady heartbeat. She longed for nothing more than to unsheathe his sword and plunge it into his chest, to kill her new owner and run away. A dumb slave would have done that, but not Dove. She thought of the consequences before anything else. Where would she go, how would she eat? For the moment, life of servitude to this young Perseus was her best means of survival, yet she was sure her time to be free would come.

As the sun fell over the Thracian horizon, the snowy mountains glistening with the day's last sunlight, the young slave girl fell asleep, but nothing in life had ever prepared her for what she was about to face. That battle would mark the birth of a new age, the age of sword, of blood. The age of total war…

* * *

Perseus' chest rose and fell with his ever constant breathing. His eyes were shut and his mouth was partly opened. He slept the dreams of the just, the sleep of the innocent. His actions not half a day before were still clear within his unconscious mind, but his thoughts dwelled not on his fallen foes. No ghost came to haunt him. Instead, visions of greatness and glories took over the young Macedonian's dreams. No longer did he picture himself a General. In his dreams, Perseus was a King, a ruler of Alexander's greatness, the warrior Macedonia needed to lift her from the shadows of a decaying empire to the glory of the Argeard star.

A noise was heard, and Perseus' eyes opened wide. He had always wondered if his light sleeping was a blessing, though in moments such as this he tended to think of it as a curse. Surely, if in peril, the mere sound of the folds of his tent flickering would be enough to awake him. However a simple cough from the occupier of the adjacent room had the precise same effect. He shifted to the side, recognizing the sound as the same sound he had heard for the past two hours. The slave girl was sick.

From what the camp doctors had said it was nothing serious. She was starving and her body was as weak as it could possibly be. That, combined with blood-drenched clothes and the Thracian cold, gave her a small flue. From what they told, she was lucky not to get pneumonia.

She now rested, sleeping – hopefully – peacefully in Godrix's room, with a cup of herbal tea by her nightstand. He never understood why he treated his slaves so well. Before the law, they were objects, assets to be sold and bought. Yet Perseus knew they were nothing more than men and women. Humans much like himself, submitted to the will of the Gods. The only difference was that they were not in the Olympians' favor; the Gods looked upon them with scorn and at times hatred. The young Macedonian believed such judgment of value was up to the heavens, and he would not treat a human being as a dog, but as an aid, a helper. Some may consider him hypocrite, as to a degree, he was simply changing the name from 'slave' to 'servant', 'aid'; but Perseus believed he did the right thing.

His eyes were once again closed, and sleep began to once again take control of the young nobleman's mind. Yet this time, the noise he heard was not a familiar one. His hand slowly made its way to a small hollow beneath his mattress, and gripped the hilt of a small dagger within it.

"Take your hand from that weapon, lad… It may serve you later, but there is no assassin after you today…"

He sat up and turned around. "Xeones, what in Hades are you doing up at this time of the night?"

"Your father's letter arrived earlier than anticipated…" His tired eyes would fool a casual observer, but Perseus knew better. The blaze of the true warrior burned through his iris even as he spoke to him "Antigonos is dead…"

Perseus stared around his room. He did not mourn the death of a man he barely met, but his heart raced still. "And Eolos?"

"In Pella…" Xeones gripped the young man's shoulder, and for the first time Perseus realized the veteran General was already clad in his battle armor "Your father needs you…" He said, solemnly "And he needs your sword…"

Perseus jumped from his bed, pulling his night shirt over his head and putting on his battle tunic. He quickly tightened his chestplate's laces and reached for his silver sword. His hand quickly went through the decorated carvings on the guard, and his hand firmly gripped its hilt "My father requests my sword…" He unsheathed the blade, holding it against his eyes "And he shall have it…"

* * *

TBC

**Author's Notes: **Quick first chapter, intro to a storyline. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Just a thought, though: This is based on a game. I enjoy historical accuracy as much as the next man, but don't expect these events to be history-based. If you can conquer the world with the Greeks on RTW, I'm not going to stop myself from doing so in this fic. Don't worry, though... That's not even certain, and if it does happen, it will be quite a few chapters in the future.

**Read and Review**

**BSL**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I ****don't own any of this.**

**Chapter 2 – The blood****y steps towards a throne**

The stars glistened across the Macedonian firmament. Deep under the shade of a million trees, a group of twelve horsemen rode silently towards the city of Bylazora. They were the elite riders of a Macedonian force over fifty miles to their north. The ten thousand men of the Omega army moved with the speed of an impregnated sloth and time was not on their side. The aristocrat, Eolos, was already in the capital city of Pella, and countless political plots and alliances were already beginning to take form. Despite such apparent early victory, the aristocrat had but the royal guard under his command. It would take weeks, if not months for him to control the entire Macedonian army, an army not so prone to being controlled by a man that has never shed blood for his kingdom. At least not his own blood…

Away from it all, riding a black steed, was the young son of a second son, the firstborn of a soldier son, Perseus, son of the mighty Deukalos, Overlord of the Northern army, conqueror of southern Thracia and brother to Eolos. The steed's rapid breath seemed ragged and the young Macedonian nobleman blew a loud whistle, causing the twelve riders to halt their mounts.

"It has been at least four hours since dusk… Our mounts are tired, we must call it a night…"

They rode on for another mile or so, setting camp by a small riverbed, where the horses could drink and the men rest. The deep woods were a formidable shelter for a force longing for secrecy, but were a nightmare for any supply caravan following them. It would be hours before Massilus' donkeys would be able to reach them, and with him another ten scouts. Until then they were on their own. The young man started to walk away from the riverbed, heading alone into the deeper woods.

"Sire!" A scout called out "Where are you going?"

Perseus turned and smiled at the man "I think I saw a few mushrooms about a hundred yards this way. Don't worry, my friend, we're definitely alone here, it's as cold as the Thracian peaks… I doubt bandits would dwell in such forsaken land. Start the fire, and I'll be right back…"

It took more time to find the mushrooms that he had believed, for with just his eyes to guide him and only the moon as a light, every tree looked the same and every path seemed a maze. Yet, the mushrooms were there and the young man filled his small pouch with little care for his surroundings. An old voice made him turn on his heels.

"Your carelessness is disconcerting, young Achilles…" Perseus' dark gaze met the old man's pale blue with frightening coldness. "Assyrian assassins could pierce those pale little flanks of yours with so much ease you'd wonder if a bug had pricked you… Before you'd fall lifeless to the ground, that is…"

The young man's sword left its sheathe with lightning speed, its edge pointed towards the old man's neck "Are you planning a swim down the old Styx, old fool?"

"Oh calm down will you…" The old man sat down in a fallen tree trunk nearby. Despite the weak light, Perseus managed to get a good glimpse of the man's features. His hair, silver and wildly spread over his head, looked like it hadn't seen water in ages. His long silver beard and tired eyes contrasted with his spotless white Athenian tunic. The young Macedonian couldn't help but smirk: the man looked a beggar in citizen's clothes. The tunic shook and shuffled as the man coughed heavily "If Macedonian noblemen hired someone to kill the son of Deukalos, I hardly think that person would be a ragged old fool…"

Perseus frowned. How did this man know his identity? "Your name, old man?"

He got to his feet and did a rather comic bow, before returning to the log "Iolos, the Athenian, at your service, my lord…"

"Iolos…" Perseus' couldn't remember the name "Do you live close by, or are you a part of some trade caravan?"

"Neither, your lordship…" He stared at the young man's confused face "What I am I cannot tell you… What I am not, that I can say… But it has already been said: I'm no assassin…"

Perseus sheathed his sword "Your tongue twist confusing words… Besides…" He picked up the bag of mushrooms and tied it to his belt "The Macedonians call me the 'new Alexander'… I doubt they'd send assassins to kill me…"

He started to walk away, but the old man's strong voice halted his steps "There have been many 'new Alexander's, young Achilles, including Alexander's own son…" He turned around, finding the old man slowly walking towards him "None lived to tell the tale…"

"I'm different…"

Iolos looked up at the young man's eyes "You bleed?" Perseus nodded "You piss?" Another nod "You bed?" The flustered young man shook his head "By Aphrodite's tits, a young nobleman who doesn't bed his entire slave entourage… You _are_ different, though I'm not sure that's a good thing…"

"Is there a point to this, you fool or are you here only to jest me?"

"My point is clear, young Achilles: You may be strong, you may be quick, you may be a natural born leader and a clever tactician, but you're still human. A knife in the dark, a double axe in a sandy battlefield, the outcome is the same…" He began to move away, and a light wind began to pick up "Your foes know this, it was about time you realized it as well…"

The wind blew a cloud over the moon, and for a moment Perseus could see nothing but darkness. He drew his sword in a mix of fear and confusion, only for the moonlight to return the next moment, and for Iolos to disappear. A drop of cold sweat went down the side of his forehead, as he heard the shouts of his scouts.

"My lord…" Two scouts, torches in hand, rushed at him "My lord, are you alright?"

"I'm fine…" He looked around, trying to find any sign of Iolos "Did you see an old man in a white Athenian tunic while you came?"

"An old man? No sire…" He stared at Perseus' gleaming sword "Were you attacked, sire?"

"Attacked? No, nothing like that…" He sheathed his sword, running his hand over his sweaty forehead "Maybe I was hallucinating… The mushrooms, perhaps… We'll have Akhmosis look at them when the caravan arrives…"

He led his scouts back to the campsite where he found the men cooking a wild boar they had killed in a clearing nearby. He ate heavily and drank wine until he could sleep, but it was a restless slumber. Iolos' words still scorched his memory…

"…_you are still human…"_

* * *

Bylazora was a restless town. It has been such for three generations. Standing at the threshold between barely civilized Macedonians and uncivilized Thracians, its marketplace was a mixture of different odors, languages and sights. Bright colored stalls covered the Egyptian lane, while marble statues called the few Greek shops their home. It was a city growing not only in size but also in importance. Merchants saw in Bylazora a portal for newfound lands, new clients. Farmers found the now unoccupied northern lands the ideal place to start anew. Yet it was not without perils, for the city was always close to an imminent barbarian assault. For that reason, Bylazora was one of the few Macedonian cities to actually have a professional standing army, guarding not only the town itself but surrounding areas. More than fifteen thousand men called the city home, fifteen thousand mouths to feed, but with three royal granaries kept constantly full, the city was a rare exception, a neighboring town that did not famish during winter periods.

The city was protected by two walls: one covering the entire northern mountain passage, built on hard stone, and one covering the southern path, little more than a wooden palisade. It was from the first that a group of riders entered the city area.

"Good Zeus it has grown even more…" Massilus said, watching from afar as they approach the mass of houses, his tone of voice a humorous one "Those wooden buildings to the west, they weren't there the last time we were here… Soon enough there'll be houses beyond the city walls!"

"No it won't…" noted the Egyptian doctor, Akhmosis, a lean man dressed in a plain wool tunic, his head shaved and a trimmed goatee adorning his chin "Mountain cities can only grow so much… After some time its food supplies grows scarce. Give it a decade, and the city will be nothing more than a military post. Soon enough the populace will realize that and move further up north… It is the way of civilians… They do not live on a place strategically important, they prefer to dwell on a place more adequate to their needs. Never mind if such place is by a river with a large plain surrounding it, an ideal target for raging bandits…"

"You're particularly sour today…" the young man, Perseus, spoke up "What happened did your make up spill?"

The rest of the men laughed loudly "For your information, yes…" The Egyptian said "I'll never understand the Greek reluctance on applying bull carts to military caravans… The donkeys are not animals fit for heavy loads. They are strong beasts, I'll give you that much, but the cost to feeding close to two thousand animals where five hundred bulls would suffice… It's madness…"

"It's not madness when you consider the state of Macedonian roads…" Perseus said, extending his arms to the ground beneath them "If it rains, all pathways become pure mud… I've yet to see a bull cart cross a muddy ground…"

Akhmosis was about to protest but the Samnite interrupted them "Will you two please stop… Now, I suggest we hurry ahead and make for the Governor's hall…" Massilus scratched his head "Wouldn't want to miss lunch…"

The men mumbled their agreement, and the group of riders hurried their pace. The road was paved after the first few sets of houses on the outskirts, and a mass of people went about their daily lives. Merchants exposed their wares and whores exposed their bodies. Still, high atop their horses and clad in their full battle armor, the group spent most of the time without bother, apart from the occasional salesman trying to get their attention to his chickens or fruits.

They covered the entire length of the main road and approached the Governor's palace, the heart of the city. Imposing stone walls formed a perfect square around a two stores high building, with an angled red tiled rooftop, much as the Greek typical architecture. From a large pinnacle atop the structure, hung the flag of the Macedonians, the Asgeard sun in a black field. Before the building, beneath a wide flight of stairs decorated with marble tiles, there was a large atrium, paved with white stones, with a small fountain and an artificial pond at its center. There were three gardens and a stable, where the group of riders now dismounted.

Massilus gave a stable boy the reins of his mare, ordering him to look after their mounts. After giving him a silver coin, he rushed to the already departing group of men, as they gathered at the front atrium. Perseus, the Egyptian and himself headed into the main building while the rest of the scouts made for a nearby barracks, where the food of the soldiers would be served. The main hall was wide, but while from the outside it appeared the entire palace was of marble, its interior was wooden, painted in white with details of red and blue. A mosaic covered the central floor, depicting the battle of Gaugamela, the image of Alexander high and proud atop Bucephalus, charging at the fleeing Darius. It was an image that always struck the young Macedonian nobleman. Not as much due to the grandeur of the whole image, the battlefield with hundreds of thousands of soldiers, but more to the meaning attached. It was made as a testimony of Macedon's greatness, but all he could perceive was the major irony of it all. History remembers courageous deeds, victorious charges, epic duels, though Darius, once great king of all Persia, would forever be remembered as the coward-king. Much more than Alexander's charge, much more than Parmenion's desperate fight to hold the left of the phalanx, Gaugamela will always be the scenery of the fleeing monarch.

"Who knows, Akh…" Perseus used the Egyptian's nickname, much to the man's disgust "You may actually have your mark on history books as well…"

The young nobleman pointed at Darius, and both he and Massilus laughed joyfully while the Egyptian remained sour-faced. "Please, good Osiris…" He said in a small prayer "Cast a plague upon their tongues…"

The pair once again laughed. If the Egyptian gods were so mighty, the kingdom would not be ruled by a line of Macedonian Pharaohs. They were led by lean slave to a room at the upper floor, and Perseus recognized it as the room he had spent the better part of his childhood: his father's lounge. As a young boy, when not preoccupied with lessons, scrolls or chores, the young man would often stay within these walls. He would pretend to be a phalangite, donning an old leather helmet that hung of a pole in the wall, a small stick as his sarissa and a small plate as a shield. He would line up clay soldier figures on the ground recreating the battles of Gaugamela, Marathon, Thermopylae, Mantinea, Chaeronea, Plataea… He would fill a small barrel with water and recreated the battle of Salamis. He would read Homer, Socrates, Plato, dream of Heracles' Labors, of being Perseus, the great Perseus, during his fight with Medusa, during the marriage to Andromeda. His mind took him wherever he chose to go, and now it brought him back. He was no longer a child, and this room gave him no dreams, only fond memories.

"Where is my father?" He asked and as the slave bowed respectfully, two men walked in, discussing loudly battle plans and logistic difficulties. The younger of the two halted, then looked at Perseus' face. Deukalos was a strong man, not tall and imposing, but with a pair of determined eyes and thick brows that when cast upon another man would make Zeus himself turn away. His mouth wrinkled into a proud smirk, and the young Macedonian guessed news of the battle had reached his father. The old man embraced him, sparing no thought to the others. "My boy, it seems every time I see you you're an inch taller… I think it's Gaia's way of making me feel inferior…" Perseus was fast approaching his father's height, despite being only fifteen years old "Look at him Pheros, is he not the image of my deceased father?"

"The resemblance is uncanny…" The older man behind the General observed "And from what I'm hearing in the past few days his sword arm is just as strong…"

"We fought barbarians, sir…" the young man was feeling uncomfortable, and still the old man's words echoed through his mind. _You're only human… "_They couldn't break the phalanx if they had the Colossus of Rhodes as a leader…"

"But I heard you killed the barbarian leader with your bare hands…"

"A sword to the throat, actually…"

"It matters not…" Deukalos moved to sit in one of the couches, and ordered the slave to serve them dinner "What matters is that old Antigonos is dead, and we have a throne to claim…"

"And my part in this?" Perseus asked, not fully comprehending his father's plan "How may I help you father, do you need me to lead an army…"

The group of men exploded in laughter. Perseus blushed, all of a sudden feeling completely out of place, a child in a gathering of men. "No, young master…" Pheros responded "You will have but a cavalry group, within your father's army. Sixty heavily armed men, at your command. You will answer to your father and obey his tactical instructions, but other than that they are yours to lead as you wish…"

"If this is how I best serve him, then I am truly honored…"

"It is, my boy, but it is more than that…" Deukalos stopped talking as the group of slaves entered the room, carrying several silver trays with many different kinds of food. Grapes, bread, cheese, honey cakes, some olive oil, all seemed delicious to a young boy who spent half his childhood in a military outpost. The main course was brought in, a large roasted boar with sliced apples stuffed within it. Jugs of wine were served and soon the men were laughing and talking. Perseus restricted his drinking to two cups, and while his father had more than tripled such tally he could see his eyes were still lucid. It would take more than a few cups of wine to get a soldier drunk. Akhmosis, on the other hand, was sprawled on the cold floor, the glass still firmly on his right hand "My lord…" Massilus' eyes went were as lucid as Deukalos' and Perseus discovered that the feast was nothing but a mean to get Akhmosis out of the conversation. The slaves carried him out of the room, and into a private chamber, were he would be bathed and bedded.

"Well my friends, let us continue…" Deukalos waved away the slaves, and the four men were alone in the room "Why is the monarchy still in place?"

The group of men was taken aback by the question, and no one uttered a word. Deukalos continued "The monarchy is still in place because aristocratic families have always believed the stability generated by a continuous line of rulers is beneficial both to their personal gains and to the greatness of the Kingdom. While Eolos will be in a front position to claim the throne, we have the armies to our advantage, and even better: a true heir…"

All eyes turned to Perseus. Deukalos continued "Perseus is Macedonian… Son of a Macedonian, and with the blood of a Macedonian royal house flowing on his veins… What does Eolos have? Three daughters, and a split in power and prestige to the royal household, with the potential suitor of each a likely candidate for the throne? No…" His eyes sparkled, his plans unfolding within the depths of his mind "An heir is definitive, an heir is safe… We can use that for our advantage…"

"But lawfully, Perseus isn't an heir…" Massilus interrupted. Few men talked this directly to mighty Deukalos, even fewer not born in Macedonia "The high families might see it differently… Larissa and her sisters are granddaughters to the dead king, Perseus is not…"

"And that is why he shall marry one of them…" Perseus nearly fell down from his divan, and Deukalos laughed wholeheartedly at his son's surprised reaction "Do you not like it, boy? I heard Larissa is quite beautiful…"

"I heard the same…" Perseus responded "It is only unfortunate that my first glimpse of my bride-to-be will come from my ears…"

The men laughed "Ah, but nobility has done these things for years…" Pheros responded "I've met my now deceased wife, Hades keep her in good stead, in the day of our wedding. She gave me three strong boys and a couple of girls…"

"All that depends on her not marrying anyone before…" Perseus added, and a both Massilus and Pheros lost their smiles, the same concern now on their minds. Deukalos' laugh once again echoed across the wooden room.

"I assure you it won't happen…"

"My lord has something up his sleeve…"

"Indeed I do, Massilus…" He removed a scroll from tunic and handed it to his son. The two men approached the young prince, reading the contents of the message. Perseus gasped, the two older men laughed ironically "That is a marriage proposal…"

"I can tell as much…" Perseus' voice was slightly weaker. He arrived a warring hero, yet he now sat as a young pawn "Do you plan for me to travel to Pella and become a hostage? Surely this is what will happen if this invitation…"

"It won't be accepted…" Deukalos interrupted "And it won't be refused. It is written there that you will be more than happy to duel any other potential suitor for Larissa's hand. That will keep the high families off her hand… and her bed…" Deukalos laughed, yet Perseus' features did not grace even the slightest of smiles "They'll want to wait and see who wins the war for the throne… Who in their right mind would want to duel the king's son?"

"So this proposal is a sham?" the young man asked, throwing the scroll back to his father "A means to get us closer to the throne of Pella… What happens if they accept?"

"Then we head for a wedding celebration at our lovely capital…" A grin from ear to ear appeared on his face, and the man's light yellow teeth appeared "With twenty thousand phalangites as guests, of course… And by Macedonian tradition, she comes to live with her husband, at our mercy…"

"Why don't we just take the twenty thousand men and head to the city?"

"A foolish act, my son…" Deukalos explained, his voice stronger. He expected a lot more reasoning from his heir "That would shift the political power to the high families, and they would all side with Eolos… I would be seen as a foreign invader, and you, as nothing but a horny prince…" He playfully slapped his son's blushed cheeks "With this card on the table, they would force themselves to look at their options… Their plan was to leech as much from Eolos as possible, for as long as possible, the man's lifetime and possibly his daughter's, selling their favors at a high price… But now, they have as much to gain as to lose on supporting him. Your marriage to his daughter would give them the stability they so desire, but they know very well it will not happen with Eolos on the throne…"

Perseus was rubbing his forehead, his tired eyes shut. The conversation began to annoy him, and he felt the start of a headache stinging through the center of his forehead "Fine…" He said at last, his words barely a sigh "Fine… It's not like I have a choice on the matter… But on one condition…" Deukalos smirked at the man's raised finger. Too much like his grandfather indeed "I want a larger force than sixty men…"

Deukalos nodded, appreciatively "Agreed… You will lead the third companions… a hundred and fifty horses… And you have my word that you will be used on battles…" _for routing charges, that is…_ he added within his mind "Now, is everything set?"

"It is…" Perseus responded, getting up "You can send the proposal to the young princess…"

Deukalos grinned "It was sent a week ago…"

* * *

The gardens of Pella were the most beautiful sight Larissa had ever seen. Roses, chrysanthemums, hundreds of thousands of flower bushes decorated every corner, every fountain and every column. The gardens were built by Philip the great himself, as both a present to his wife Eurydice, who died soon after her husband, by the hand of Alexander's mother, Olympia, it is believed; and as but another of a long list of measures to make Macedonia more Hellenistic. Pella was still centuries away from becoming Athens or Corinth, but the royal quarters were standing tributes to hedonism. Bright warm marble columns, aqueducts, fountains, a pond the size of a small lake filled with ducks and swans, a paddock with some of the finest horses from Thessaly found in all of Hellas, it was as close to paradise as one could get within Macedonian borders.

Yet the fourteen year-old was in a grim mood. Every day, a dozen marriage proposals and best wishes scrolls arrived. Hotep, the Egyptian papyrus maker on the Pella agora must be making a fortune, she thought. It seemed every young suitor in Pella was after her hand, or her crown. She had met some of them, arrogant men with long hair, some twice her age, others barely a child, who spent the entire evening bragging about a stallion, their mansions, their lineage, their treatment of their slaves. She always ended up faking excitement and ended the night with promises of future meetings, promises she had no intention of keeping.

She was bored out of her mind, the meetings and proposals taking up most of her free time. It had been months since she last went out riding with her sisters, or went to archery practice with Kellios, her old teacher. She felt a prisoner of the Palace, a prisoner of her duty as firstborn. And now, as her father approached her with a large grin across his features, she knew her ordeal was far from over.

"Larissa, dear… Another message came from young Cassander… He was very impressed with you…"

"I cannot say the same…" She replied, sitting her slender figure on a marble bench nearby. Her father sat next to her holding her hand. Eolos always marveled at his daughter's beauty. She was the image of her mother, slender waist, round hips, her normally pale skin now donning a lovely olive texture, her eyes a mix between hazel and green, her golden hair tied behind her head, in a single braid. She was indeed the image of her mother as a youth, and Eolos caught himself remembering his days as a young prince, before his brother had died, before he became the eldest son. "Father, I cannot stand this anymore…" She interrupted his musings "Just pick someone and get it over with… If I'm to be miserable, may it be with just one suitor, not a dozen…"

He frowned. Nothing in life hurt him more than the disappointed look on his daughter's eyes. He almost gave in… Almost… If he was to be King of Macedonia, he needed a stronger grip on his personal feelings than this. "Larissa, we've had this conversation before… Until one of the households proves to be the strongest, until one of them rivals Deukalos' influence, we'll have to remain open…"

She looked down, her eyes watering and her figure appeared to shrink. He sighed and moved to hug her, but stopped any show of weakness as he noticed the approaching forms of Hermidas, the messenger, and his General, Eageras. "News, General?" he said out loud, and with the corner of her eye Larissa became aware of the conversation.

"A message, majesty…" His General's deep voice seemed like a thunder roaring through his teeth "Another suitor announces his intentions to marry your daughter…"

"Ah, did you hear that, dear?" He got up, motioning for both men to approach "Perhaps this one will be more to your liking… Please, Hermidas, tell us the young nobleman's name…"

"Huh, sire…" the messenger's voice was nervous. He stuttered and struggled to find his voice "Perhaps it is best to discuss this in private…"

"Nonsense…" Eolos said, cheerfully. His bald head shone in the warm sunlight, and his yellow teeth were all showing as his grin widened "Please, Hermidas, tell us this man's name so that all of us are aware of his…"

"Perseus…" His General interrupted him, his face as serious as it has ever been. Being honest, Eolos did not remember the man ever smiling. He thought about the name: Perseus, rather common in aristocratic households, though a fine name all the same. When Eageras continued, all color drained from the monarch's face "Son of _mighty _Deukalos, Overlord of the northern armies and conqueror of southern Thracia…"

"Larissa…" Eolos said, in the coldest tone of voice the young woman had ever heard "Go to your sisters… Don't leave their room until I tell you to leave…"

"But father…"

"Now!" He roared. His jaw was tense as he heard the news, and they remained so as he watched his little girl walk away. _His _little girl… He turned towards his General, his eyes glistening with anger "Talk…"

"The invitation arrived this morning…" He explained "It came by an army messenger…"

"Have him executed…"

"He left as soon as the letter was delivered…" The General shook his head approaching the monarch "Besides, it was a sealed scroll, sire… I doubt he even knew what he was carrying…"

"I don't care, find him and behead him…"

"We should focus on more pressing matters, sire…" His stern gaze was fixed on the Macedonian King "…like the consequences of this proposal…"

"Consequences… It won't happen… period!"

"Sire, every household is aware of the… _incident…_ You can expect all other proposals for your daughter's hand in marriage to be… suspended, in a way…" He spoke with as much care as he could, but the General was quickly running out of patience "Besides, we can't have this stalemate last much longer. Kleomenes marches to retake Corinth as we speak. Athens has stopped paying her taxes for over three months, now. Thracian forces are amassing to take Byzantium, a city we've expressly declared to be Macedonian… Since Antigonos laid on his deathbed the Kingdom is in disarray… We need a determinate action!"

Eolos clenched his fists. It was hard enough to bear with his cousin constantly claiming to be better fit to take over the throne, _his throne,_ he didn't need to hear how incompetent he was from his own General. He calmed himself as best as he could, and between clenched teeth he spat "What would you have me do, General? I cannot fight a war on two fronts…"

"Majesty…" the man bowed ever so lightly, noticing the King's different behavioral pattern "We should muster our armies of the south… Call every man able to carry a spear and put him on the field. Deukalos may have the most experienced troops, but with higher numbers we might succeed in a flanking maneuver that would tear down his phalanxes… I would not bother about an invasion of Macedonian terrain. Every Greek city knows the moment they cross our original border both you and Deukalos will march south…" The King raised an eyebrow, and Eageras could only smirk "Or so they've been led to believe…"

Eolos nodded weakly, before turning his back. His voice was a barely audible whisper "Summon Eomedes and Kallis… I don't care if we have to leave Larissa unguarded…"

Eageras clenched his fist over his chest and hurriedly moved away, leaving a much distressed Hermidas before the Macedonian King. "Make yourself useful, Hermidas…" The King uttered "Have a bath prepared and have the slaves shine my armor…" He turned, and once again there was a sparkle of anger on his eyes "The throne of Pella heads to war…"

* * *

Perseus' heartbeat was faster than the winged sandals of Hermes. His bright silver armor shone under the morning sun, with black underclothes and a long black cape with the Asgeard star, both absolutely spotless. Garments fit for kings. His longsword, as thick as his forearm, reflected the sun's bright gleam in such way that it seemed the young man was armed with one of Zeus's lightning bolts. His full helm was also made of silver but with a crest made of black horsehair. It had been over two months since he last heard of his marriage proposal, however undesired it was. Two months since Eolos had ordered the army to gather at Pella, leaving the cities of Larissa and Corinth without a sheet of protection. Corinth had fallen the week before and the Peloponnesus was now scorched with Spartan and Athenian raids. Macedonian families, who sought a new start at that border, who sought a new life after Antigonos had annexed those provinces, were mercilessly butchered. Still, Eolos didn't care. He was after a throne.

Completely apart from that political intrigue, the one hundred and fifty men of his unit, the Wolves, grew restless by the minute as they observed the now fast approaching battle. Every now and then a bird covered the sun for a brief moment, and the young prince could see the outlines of a flock of vultures, flying low above the battlefield. They could smell a carnage a thousand miles away. A horn was sounded in the far distance, followed by a loud _hail_ cry. The enemy phalanx moved closer and closer, slowly forming up a battle line. Spears sparkled over the dust raised from a thousand footsteps, as gold nuggets shining in the depths of a river. Another horn, another _hail_, and Deukalos' phalanxes moved ahead, forming a line just as wide as their foe's. Auxiliary troops ran about, forming an uneven mass at the flanks and rears. Peltats and archers, slingers and barbarian mercenaries, half of them would be dead within the hour. It was a different feeling from being in the midst of a shield wall, to see the clash of armies in its grand magnitude. In the next few moments, mortals would become gods.

"I've never seen it…" a man behind him commented, and Perseus could not associate the voice with a name "Phalanx versus Phalanx… I wouldn't want to be in that front line…"

"Thought from your reputation you wouldn't mind a sarissa at your back…"

Laughter erupted, and even Perseus could not contain a slight smirk. It never ceased to amaze him how soldiers, even peasants holding pitchforks, would find a light in the midst of darkness, a touch of humor at times grimness and despair threatens to take hold.

A horn sounded three times, being followed by the other horn as soon as the first resounding boom left the instrument. The attack had begun.

Phalanxes were slow moving formations, and it was well over ten minutes later before the first sarissas clattered together, before the first warriors fell. Being veteran troops, Deukalos' phalanxes, under Xeones' command, fought on like lions, each strike, each parry, each shield raised in the protection of a fellow phalangite seemingly an act of instinct, not of thought. One of Eolos' banners fell to the muddy ground, and Deukalos' entire army cheered loudly. Eventually it was once again raised, but the dark brown marks upon it caused the sight to be even more shameful.

Perseus stared at the battle positioning. His father's troops were stationed on the old-fashioned Macedonian way: Phalanx to the front, auxiliaries and cavalry to the sides. The only difference is that the cavalry had, so far, simply observed the battle. The young nobleman had no doubt that when a breach occurred, on either army, his father would sound the advance of the mounted troops.

Eolos' troops, on the other hand, despite vastly outnumbering his father's troops, were mostly unemployed. Thousands of men stood back, behind the main phalanx line, mere spectators of the bloodbath occurring. If they had been used from the start, they might have swung the battle in the loyalists' favor. He shook his head slightly. No… He had heard better than that about Eageras. The man was ten years older than his father, and had led Macedonian troops from the plains of Corinth to the sands of Numidia. He had some secret strategy still to unfold, of that Perseus carried little doubt.

The battle went on, and more than ever the reserves would need to be used if the battle was to be saved from the loyalists' point of view. His thoughts apparently crossed Eageras' mind as well, for soon enough, thousands of peasant warriors, armed with as much as kitchen knives and improvised spears stormed to Xeones' right, killing thousands of auxiliaries and flanking the phalanx.

"We must go…" He said, loud enough his men could hear him. A massive, over six and a half feet tall rider dared to speak "We received no such order from your father, young master…"

"You…" he pointed towards the man with the edge of his sword "Alexis, head to my father and ask permission to lead an assault…"

He nervously watched as the battle raged on, watched as the phalanx fought on for survival, as it fought for cohesiveness, for all knew that if the lines broke, it would be a slaughter. The rider returned "Negative, young master…" he shook his head, his beard appearing over the cheek plates "He says he's organizing the Hypaspistai to cover that gap…"

Perseus watched as the battle raged on. The golden phalanx, the elite Hypaspistai, were slow, and he wasn't so sure Xeones' men would last long enough "With me…" he said, his voice strong and almost metallic, coming from within the helm. A hundred and fifty horsemen slowly made way to where Deukalos was, high atop his brown mare. The General frowned upon seeing the brash face of his son "The lines won't last that long, sire…"

Deukalos shook his head sadly and observed the battlefield once again. He had guessed as much, but he had planned to keep his son away from harm for as long as possible. It was one thing to fight barbarians in the center of a phalanx, it was another one completely to engage an enemy severely outnumbering you and atop a horse, where you were vulnerable to projectiles from all sides. He sighed, then turned to his son "Triple wedges, Gyras will lead the first, I'll lead the second and you'll lead the third…"

Perseus grinned then spurred his horse away "Hold!" He turned around seeing his father raise his hand "Good luck…"

Only a pair of glistening eyes and a wide, bright grin were visible from the shadows of the man's helm "The same to you…"

He galloped away, raising his sword high and passing through his men "Alexandros!" He roared then darted towards the fight, followed by a hundred and fifty heavily armored men. His father shook his head, turning to the side and seeing his General, Gyras, laughing out loud… "We should go, sire…" he said, humorously "Wouldn't want the boy to win the battle all by himself…"

Deukalos smiled "For Macedonia!" He yelled, and his men matched his cry "For glory!" He nudged his mare's flanks, and in the blink of an eye the General was speeding away. "And for Eolos' balls in a golden platter!"

It was a beautiful sight while it lasted, before the dust rose with ever pummel of a horseshoe. "Wedge!" Deukalos screamed "Form wedge!"

His father's orders were but an echo in the wind, the sound of a thousand hooves deafening most men nearby, but Perseus knew the order was coming, and when the distinctly deep timbre of his father's voice reached his ears, he raised his sword, swinging it around to gather his men. With their attention turned to them, his teenage voice resounded "Wedge…"

The order was repeated from men to men, and soon enough the unorganized mass of riders began to form the so-called flying wedge, a V-shaped formation suited to break enemy formations. If the tip, or spearhead, managed to break the line, the rest would widen the gap, leaving the defending men in disarray long after the horsemen line had sped away. To his left, he could just barely see the contours of his both Gyras' and his father's elite horsemen, two hundred and fifty men each, galloping hard to match his pace. A rider left his father's formation, and approached the young man "Your father orders you forward!" He yelled, over the thunderous sound of the hooves "Past the peasants and into the side of their phalanx!"

"Understood!" He yelled back to the already departing man, then turned his head to the man nearest to him "Narrow!"

The man nodded and repeated the order to the man behind him. The V-shaped formation narrowed, resembling the edge of a Cretan arrow. He led his men around the mass of peasants, then drove hard into the flank of the enemy phalanx. They were caught off guard, and the sixty men deep square rolled over like an expensive Parthian carpet. Hundreds of sarissas hit the ground, and his army's phalanx pushed forward. Phalangites crashed against the front and flanks of his stallion, the same black stallion he had ridden north of Bylazora, into the barbarian slave camp. He had grown to like the sturdy horse, and had renamed him _Phobos, 'fear'…_ The same fear that was present on the eyes of his enemies, as his sword arm fell and rose with deadly aim and speed, as they were pummeled to the ground by horsemen and impaled to the skies in spears.

It was a sight both Perseus and Deukalos never wished to see again, Macedonians on a sarissa's end.

Meanwhile, both Deukalos' and Gyras' wedge had finally clashed against the peasant levy, slaughtering hundreds with every pass, with every charge. Peasants were among some of the bravest fighting men a General would ever see. These were not professionals, were not trained in formation changes and collective fighters. They were poorly armed men, donning no armor, but they were ready to die for their families, their homes. Yet, on this army, he sensed none of that, no bravery, no determination. Most fought only for their own lives, making no attempt to combat the ongoing slaughter, to form up and attempt some sort of resistance, some form of counter attack. Their morale hit the ground as soon as the first horse trampled over the first chest, the first head. These were not men defending their homes, for they understood their home was not in jeopardy. They were fighting for a King they did not love, against a General they admired. Deukalos' heart ached with every painful cry, with every incoherent growl and every blood-drowning gurgle. The peasants were being butchered. _His people…_

A distant rumble shook him back to reality. A second group of levy peasants, as poorly armed and as scared as the first, ran towards him. _Ah, Eageras… _he thought _… I know you too well to fall for such trickery…_

It was a cunning plan, but one he had seen in action many years before. To destroy a cavalry group, one needed to take away its mobility. You could do that by facing it with a wall of spears, an even bigger and better armed cavalry, or two immense vulnerable masses of soldiers. Draw out the cavalry with one group, then, as the horsemen are busy, strike at them with a second group. The riders would be caught between two large forces, with no cohesive line or a pathway to cross. He slashed his way to the flag bearer and ordered him to follow. Deukalos blew an ivory horn that hanged from his belt and stormed away from the fight, close to five hundred horsemen at his flanks. The two masses of soldiers were joined, but faced no opponent. Some sighed with relief, but any sense of security vanished as they heard a loud roar.

From the north, the Hypaspistai had arrived.

* * *

Larissa observed the action with a touch of excitement. The sound of men's cries and the sight of cold steel drawing out blood, it hit her as a play. Brave Achilles and Hektor, a dozen 'Odysseus's, a hundred 'Aeneas', a thousand 'Ajax', all fighting for the beautiful Helen… She smirked, lightly. She knew well enough the marriage proposal was but a cover to draw out her father in battle, but it all felt strangely Homeric, the characters, the political plots, the great tragedies and acts of heroism. She couldn't help but feel as kidnapped Helen. She glanced at the battle, trying to find both her suitor and his father. _It means somewhere close by stood both her 'husband' Menelaus and mighty Agamemnon._

She looked at her father, and it disturbed her how much it felt wrong to consider her father 'a Priam.' Eolos stood at the front of his tent, a lavishly decorated pavilion, with pillows and cushions spread around its entire length, so that all the precious households of Pella would be comfortable to watch the end of the treasonous menace. Or so her father had said… While most would expect a sense of calmness from a General or a King at this tense hour, Eolos paced back and forth, stopping occasionally to nervously gnaw their fingernails. She groaned. It was hard enough to keep the crown without exposing yourself as a coward before the entire Macedonian nobility. She drove such thoughts away, for that if the battle before her was not won, there would be no need to win the favors of wealthy noblemen. She turned back to the battle, thinking the dead needed no favors, nor could collect them.

She watched as the first group of cavalry went around her father's men, ignoring the unorganized mob completely and clashing against the rear and side of the first group of phalangites. With the corner of her eye, she saw her father's tension. His jaw was shaking and his fists clenched in anger. His face twisted in a deep scowl, his lips showing nothing but repulse at the vision before him. "Eageras…" He growled "I thought you said the cavalry would be entrapped between both forcers… And now look at… Look!" Just as he said it, the remaining two cavalry groups broke free from the fight and went to join the flanking maneuver on the phalanxes "Look at that! My men crumble before _YOUR…" _he pointed a finger towards the old general "…_stupidity!"_

"Royal Guard to the front…" He said to his nearest flag bearer, and the man started to raise the advance orders "Hold!" Eolos said, interrupting the man's movements "The Royal Guard is all that keeps that cavalry from crushing our position…"

The General noticed, with a touch of disgust, that _our_ position wasn't referring to his army, but to Eolos' private pavilion. Five thousand men, a group capable of turning the tide of the battle, and all the man could see was a group of bloody bodyguards. Still, his face remained stoic. "If we move them forward, we might halt their cavalry advances and cover an organized retreat… We could then regroup and reestablish a battle line…"

"No, no, no…" The monarch shook his head, and yanked his sword clear of is sheath. Larissa gasped in surprise, noticing the despair in her father's eyes. Eageras, on the other hand, featured only sad resignation. Eolos' voice seemed filled with poison. He had decided to take a stand, to act as the merciless King he wished to become "Your plans took us far enough…" he hesitated for a moment, then pushed the blade deep into the old man's abdomen, without even the slightest resistance. Larissa's mouth muffled a surprised cry, as the blood began to drip from the old man's mouth. He pulled his sword clear, and the body of the old General fell hard against the carpet-covered soil. "You are to hold your places!" He yelled to the line of warriors, blood dripping from the edge of his sword. Close to five thousand warriors turned away from the battle… to face their fallen General. "You are the guard of the King! The Royal Guard! Act as such!"

Larissa's eyes were full of tears and instinctively she walked to where her sisters were standing, her two younger siblings, Ceres and Camilla, of 12 and 9 years of age respectively, near their handmaidens. "We should go…" She told them "Father is slightly altered…"

"Is that your husband?" young Camilla asked, pointing the young leader of the first cavalry, who she now recognized as Perseus. Larissa instinctively blushed. She should not have told her sisters of the proposal, for they alone recognized the slight shine in her eyes from that day forth. Not one of love or admiration, but one of curiosity. Having spent her life surrounded by egotistical suitors-to-be, aristocratic sons who spent hours talking about the great military conquests of their ancestors, while having never donned a piece of armor themselves, it felt strangely exciting to consider as her future husband a soldier, a warrior, a rough brute, perhaps. She appreciated neither of those characteristics, but still, it was a different thought on a life filled with boredom. She dismissed the maidens and knelt before the two children. Her voice was but a whisper "What makes you believe think I would want to marry that man?"

"Your eyes…" young Camilla explained "Your cheeks, your lips…"

"Oh, be quiet…" she hushed her sister, then brushed some dirt off her tunic "I wouldn't want to marry the man who is trying to kill our father, would I?"

"What if we arranged things differently?"

A deep voice came from behind her, and Larissa turned, startled to face Draco of House Antigon. The old aristocrat calmly walked to her side, never making eye contact with the young princess "What if we made sure your father never meets the end of either Perseus' or Deukalos' sword?"

"Noble Draco…" she bowed gracefully "I am afraid I do not follow you…"

The old man smiled "Walk with me…"

The man turned and walked away. Larissa ordered the girls to remain where they were, then rushed to meet the man's pace "What is it you were talking about, noble Draco?"

"I am talking about the future of the Kingdom…" He said, his calm tone indicating their subjects to be anything but what they were in truth: treason "Civil war has no winner… The victor will find nothing but a country in ruins… We cannot allow this war to prolong itself…"

"You speak as if you already know who the victor is…"

"We both know…" He halted and stared coldly into her brownish-green eyes "Your father is unfit to rule this nation, and he just killed the only man capable of securing his throne…" He pointed towards the bloodied corpse of Eageras "The households will abandon him… Even the Royal Guard is wavering on their determination to guard their King. If he is not careful, Eolos will end up slain not by Deukalos but by one of his own…"

She narrowed her eyes and stared furiously at the old aristocrat "Is that a threat, your lordship?"

"Not at all my lady…" He laughed at the idea, and his smile appeared to be sincere. "But your father has dealt with some dangerous folk recently… He hired Assyrian assassins to kill both Deukalos and young Perseus…" she swallowed hard by the mention of the young prince "The battle is lost, and the war is lost… When Pella's coffers are no longer under Eolos' control, the Assyrians will come to collect their fee, most likely in advance…"

She raised an eyebrow in curiosity "What happens if Deukalos and young Perseus are killed before the war is over? Would my father not be sat safely upon his throne?"

Draco could not help but laugh in irony "The Assyrians know your father has lost… They will make no attempt to murder either of the men. They would prefer to keep an open channel with the future royal household, to ensure future uses of their… _skills…_"

Larissa could not argue with the logic, but still doubts filled her mind "Given their tasks would remain alive, what reason would they have to charge my father for their services?"

"If your father pays them, fine…" he explained "They walk out with a hefty fee of twenty thousand gold pieces…" He laid a hand on her shoulder "But more likely is that your father refuses it…then his head will serve as a present to the new King…"

She shivered "You speak of assumptions, intrigues, but I fail to see how I fit into the role. Do you have a proposal, your lordship?"

"Marry the young prince…" she unconsciously blushed "With the Kingdom minimally stable, we can put Eolos under Deukalos' protection, where any act from the Assyrians would be as an act upon Deukalos himself…"

Once again, Larissa could not question the logic of the proposal. If she refused, her father would be dead, an outcast within Macedonian borders and a target for the Assyrians. Her heart raced and her breathing became ragged. It was too much to think, made even harder by the clouds of dirt on the morning air and the sound of clattering swords and shattering hooves. She turned away and breathed in slowly. She was a princess, her line of nobility extending before even the mighty Alexander. Her happiness was second to the welfare of the Kingdom. She stoically looked at the old man, and Draco found a new sense of admiration for the fourteen year-old, behaving as a woman well beyond her age "If you excuse me, sir…" She walked to the edge of the pavilion, a lonely place where you could watch the entire battle undisturbed. Draco moved to her side, and heard her whispers "I would like to observe my future husband, noble Draco, if you would be so kind as to leave me to my thoughts…"

The old nobleman nodded, his face gracing a wide smile. He walked away and Larissa felt no regrets. She gazed silently into the battlefield, once again seeing the figure of the tall man upon the black stallion. It was a formidable beast, she thought, unlike anything she had ever seen even from Thessalian traders. But what truly caught her eye, was the young man, or boy, as some might call him, upon it. The grace of his movements surprised her, for the man's sword slashes were executed in long and short arches, the thrusting movement hardly ever used. The man's horse never stopped moving, and while killing less than half of the men he faced, he disabled quite a few, severing hands and opening up huge gashes on some of their shoulders. The bright silver of his armor matched perfectly with his black underclothes and cape, and atop all, the bright crimson color of blood covering almost entirely his horse's flank and the man's lower body. He seemed not Menelaus, but Ares himself. _Then you are Aphrodite…_ she thought, flushing as she remembered the old tales of Aphrodite's affair to Ares.

It surprised her that she had first focused on that single man, not even bothering to glance at the battlefield surrounding him. Taking some time to understand what was happening, she noticed the fleeing men, the desperate screams, and became aware that the phalanx line had been completely routed, and the phalangites were rushing towards the cover of the Royal Guard. Perseus was joined by another man, equally tall and even more elegant in his wield of the blade. That was Deukalos…

The two men apparently talked briefly, before ignoring the fleeing men all around them and leading their more than four hundred horsemen on a gallop towards the Royal Guard, a few hundred meters away from the King's pavilion.

* * *

Perseus swung his sword in a low arch, severing a man's forearm just as it was raised to strike a fallen horseman. He thought of turning around, of finishing the job, but with the corner of his eye he saw the horseman getting to his feet and stabbing the enemy in the heart. He halted his stallion and looked around. The enemy soldiers were routing, and all across the battlefield his father's riders tore them apart, the phalanxes were behind them, steadily marching uphill into their position. There was no rush, he thought, as before them five thousand elite men stood on their guard to protect their King. He spat on the ground. Eolos wasn't worthy of such title.

His father rode to his side, a smile visible beneath the man's helmet "Quite a victory, boy, wouldn't you say?"

"Not yet, father…" He responded, pointing towards the Royal Guard "_They _will not run…"

"You worry too much, boy…" He said, with a laugh "We are but a few meters away from Eolos himself…" He pointed his sword to the bald man, standing at the front of his pavilion, fully clad in his shiny armor, a sword limply falling across the left of his belt "Not even a new Achilles can stop us now…"

Perseus remembered the old man in the woods calling him _young Achilles_… Then his memories flocked to another point, one more recent "Father, do you remember the central mosaic on your hall?"

"Gaugamela? Yes…" He turned to his son, a surprised look on his face "You propose we…" He turned back to the mass of lords behind the Royal Guard, the old ladies and lords of Pella "No, my son… However brilliant a victory we could achieve, we cannot go around the troops and into the pavilion with our horses. That would be seen as an aggression to all those noble houses that stand beneath the linen tents…"

"So?" Perseus asked, brashly "We kill this coward and _clean the house_ with one strike!"

"Kill the entire ruling body of Macedonia?" Deukalos more answered than asked "Ah, child I wish it was as simple… No, our entire strategy depends on us having more acceptance than my bald cousin…"

Perseus shrugged "Then what?"

Deukalos grinned, and spurred his horse forward "Watch and learn…"

He and his flag bearer exchanged a few words, before the young aide swung his flag around in coded orders. Perseus' eyes widened. As if one being, the entire mounted formation lined up by their side. The men of the Royal Guard exchanged incredulous looks between them, knowing full well that if a cavalry attack would come with such formation it would be repelled before even hitting the first man. The line halted, and Deukalos walked ahead… alone…

Perseus was close enough to see the bald man, but with the helmet and his hair in the way, he could barely see his father a few feet away. He removed his crested helm tossing it to the side. Moving his auburn hair away from his eyes, he was able to see the man's plain figure.

Most Generals and Kings carry themselves with enough grace and nobility to inspire at least the men closest to him in their daily lives. Eolos, standing there on his bright silver and golden armor, with streaks of brown and red upon the belt and shoulders, appeared nothing but a man clad in armor. Armors and ranks never formed Generals. If the man beneath the royal armor isn't worthy of the title, he will not retain it for long. Actions form the conqueror, a man who leads from the front, or stands back commanding the strategies of the battlefield. A man who dons a bright armor and stands behind his men, making no effort to even understand what happens in the struggle, is nothing but a pretty mannequin.

His father was entirely different. Even with a suit of armor much simpler than that of the alleged monarch, his presence was felt throughout the field. His name alone could inspire either fear or awe upon the men. Perseus vowed never to become like his uncle, and prayed to the mighty Zeus that he may bring as many glories to his Kingdom as his father had.

Deukalos raised his fist, and the entire battlefield was silent, the only sound heard was that of the gushing wind. He spoke up, and his words appeared to echo through the skies, as if Zeus himself uttered the man's words. "Royal Guard!" He repeated the call three times "Brothers! As a Macedonian, I beg of you: drop your weapons…"

He extended his arm to the battlefield behind him, and the tens of thousands of Macedonian bodies "We have had enough bodies at the end of the sarissas… Macedonian bodies! Drop your weapons and follow a true General!"

Many reluctant stares were exchanged, and a smirk formed on Deukalos' lips. Still, no soldier moved "They will not listen to you!" He heard Eolos say.

"And they will listen to you, a man who dons a suit of armor as a doll dons a dress?" Deukalos' men laughed hysterically, and even Perseus, usually stoic when on a battlefield, could not suppress a slight chuckle.

"What is the matter, Deukalos?" Eolos said, his smile not convincing even the most naïve observer "Are you afraid to meet the Royal Guard? Afraid your men will run away upon sight of their golden shields?"

The reaction was not what Eolos had expected. Deukalos laughed, wholeheartedly "Fear?" He amusingly asked. His face grew serious, his stare tensed, and, never looking back, he yelled from the bottom of his lungs "Phalanx!"

Immediately, fifteen thousand sarissas moved ahead and back to their owners' shoulder, their move almost perfectly synchronized "_Hail!_" was the cry that left the warriors' mouths.

"Boars!" Deukalos yelled, and two hundred men from Gyras' cavalry clashed their swords' guard against their chestplates, before raising their swords in the air and roaring "_Hail!_"

Deukalos continued "Lions!" His personal guard of two hundred men matched the Boars' move and roared, with even more ferocity "_Hail!"_

At last, Deukalos roared "Wolves!" Perseus felt a rush of excitement passing through his body, as he subconsciously matched his fellow cavalrymen's movements and yelled the mighty salute "_HAIL!_"

"So you see, cousin…" Deukalos galloped across a small length of grass, back and forth, his sword pointed towards his men "I do not fear…" His voice made it seem a logical conclusion "For a man has NOTHING to fear when surrounded by WARGODS such as these!"

Their men roared and made to march forward, only to be contained by their square leaders. Eolos was crimson red, yet Perseus could not identify if it was due to anger or shame. His words left his mouth loudly, yet they did not carry the same greatness as Deukalos' "Then I have nothing to fear either, wouldn't you agree?"

Perseus sighed and shook his head, once again not being able to suppress a chuckle. If his speech was meant to encourage his troops, it had precisely the opposite effect "Then come down here, fearless man! Let us settle this in a manner which only one Macedonian life is taken!"

He opened his arms, revealing the breastplate beneath it as a sign of expectation. Perseus frowned upon seeing a lean man approach his uncle, briefly exchanging a few words and leaving to his left. He tried to follow the man through the mass of bodies of noblemen and slaves, but lost him about halfway through. On the far left, his eyes stopped, not on the man, but a beautiful blonde girl, about his age. Their eyes met and Perseus felt his heart skipping a beat or two. She was lean, athletic and if her gaze did not shift he would swear she was the goddess Artemis herself. Then he stared at where her gaze had turned to, and swore. He quickly spurred his horse forward, galloping fast towards his father, who turned to face him with a rather surprised, not to mention irritated, look. Deukalos started to protest, but when his son's shield blocked his view of the sun, and a loud clank reach his eyes, he stopped. The young prince lowered his shield, glancing back in time to see the beautiful woman slap the archer hard in the cheeks. It was the same lean man as before, and his eyes watched in terror to see Eolos' reactions to his failure.

Perseus slid his sword across his shield's bronze cover, scraping some of the black and golden paint that decorated it with the Asgeard sun. The arrow shattered, and fell to the ground. "Are you hurt?" His father questioned him in low tone "So there's your mighty wargod!" He yelled as soon as he saw the bleeding forearm of his son, where the metal edge had penetrated. Still, Perseus remained impassive. His heart filled with pride, Deukalos continued "When I call for combat all I get is an arrow from afar! And he is so incompetent, that he cannot do even _that_ right!"

"So…" he continued, above the laugh of his men "Mighty Guard… I ask you again, drop your weapons and join a leader worthy of your services!"

He saw even more doubtful looks, but still there was no movement. He sighed. Deukalos had hoped it would not come to this. With morale as low as it was, there wasn't even a flicker of doubt that the Royal Guard would crumble. Still, another five thousand Macedonian warriors were a price far too great to pay. Knowing no other way, he shook his head, leading his horsemen away. With a final glance back, he once again released his mighty roar "_PHALANX!"_

"_Hail!"_ they responded. A loud drum began to sound, and once again the Phalanx was set in motion.

Perseus, who had fought on the midst of these men a few months before, felt a sting of jealousy upon seeing their march to glory. Such feeling was replaced immediately with a sense of pride, for he heard his men's chants, the warrior's cry into battle.

* * *

Larissa shivered as she finally comprehended the words being sung.

**"_Almighty-Ares... hear...our...cries_**

**_Echo__...your-laughter-as… our...foe...dies_**

**_Almighty-Ares… take-this-offer-from-your-horde_**

**_Millions-of-gallons-of-blood... that-drip-from-our-swords"_**

**"_Almighty-Hades… __welcome-our-fallen-into-your-land_**

**_And-have-Persephone-pray… for-those-who-still-stand_**

**_Almighty Hades… may-Charon-aid-them-through-their-cross_**

**_And-may-they-in-Tartarus-meet… those-who-mourn-their-loss"_**

**"_Almighty-Athena… cover-us-in-your-round-bronze-shield_**

**_And-may-under-its-weight… our-hated-foes-yield_**

**_Almighty-Athena… pierce-their-hearts-with-your-mighty-spear_**

**_Then-sing-your-battle-cry… and-taste-their-fear!"_**

She trembled even further upon seeing that the words now came from both sides. She could not restrain the tears welling in her eyes, as she saw what happened next. Few, at first, but then gradually more and more men of the Royal Guard dropped their sarissas, stepping away from the formation and echoing the song so that the entire hillside could hear it. Deukalos' whole group of phalanx rose their spears, and calmly walked to join their brothers in arms. The Royal Guard broke formation, and matched the move. Larissa could see the terror in her father's eyes, the undeniable terror of a broken man, who sees no way out of his misery. She saw her father jump away from his place of honor and walk into the mass of bureaucrats. A touch of fear went through her bones, and she sought out her sisters.

She met them both a good minute afterwards, as they had moved away from the banquet table and closer to the edge of the massive tent, so they could observe the fight. She held her sisters closer to her frame, and went along to find their father. It took some time, but there he was, upon a horse, ready to leave. Draco and a few other high names in Pella all stared deeply at him. Eolos' face brightened upon seeing his daughters "Ah, Larissa, Ceres, little Camilla… Come on now, we have a few fresh horses for you…" He pointed at three mares nearby "We'll stop at Pella then move south, to the city of Larissa…"

Her sisters made to move forward, but Larissa held them back. Draco stepped in front of them, his dark eyes matching the monarch's feral gaze "They go nowhere…" He said at last, his timbre firm and commanding "And you would do well to remain, as well…"

"And become a prisoner?"

"And remain alive, father…" She appealed, watching as all color drained from his face "Please, if we can only…"

"No!" He spat. He looked at Larissa, and the young lady found out she could not sustain his gaze "My own daughter…" He said in contempt "We move…"

Despite still watching her, the young woman knew his enraged voice was no longer directed towards them. The riders galloped away, and Larissa felt a hollow point within her heart. She understood her father's wrath perfectly. They were fruit of his deep love for her, his deep love for her family. Although, she considered, it was a love always determined by possessiveness. Always did he treat his daughters as precious little objects, and always did he show his affection with gifts and lavish treasures. Always were they objects, commodities, bargaining chips. But then again, she asked herself, which princess wasn't?

A commotion was heard from the other side of the pavilion, the one facing the battlefield. Draco rushed towards it, and not wanting to see the fading outline of her father against the horizon, she moved to join him. Her sisters, each holding one of her hands, stared wide eyed at the approaching horsemen. Larissa froze, her feet not able to move. Amongst the approaching horsemen, rode her uncle. The mighty Deukalos is but a man, she reminded herself, and should be treated as such, not as a monster or a god.

The General dismounted, palling up completely as he saw the fallen corpse of Eageras. With her father still present, no one had dared to move the body, but now, as Deukalos approached it, he ordered two of his horsemen to carry him to their camp and prepare a funeral pyre. Draco stepped up to meet the man and both exchanged a long embraced. No… One with good eyes, such as hers, could see the nobleman had whispered countless words into the General's ear, and with a confirming nod, Deukalos moved away, saluting each pavilion guard before finally approaching her. She tensed, but managed to calm herself upon seeing the figure of Draco a few steps behind.

"We must talk…" he said firmly, yet not without tenderness. They moved away from the pavilion, until he was safe no one else could hear their words "Draco tells me you agree to marry my son…"

"Conditionally…"

He smiled at her defiance. Few would have the nerve to talk to him in such manner "Yes, he informed of them as well… Do not fear… letters will be shipped to all Greek cities informing them that Eolos is under my guard and protection…" She nodded, appreciatively "But tell me, is it only for your father's sake that you agreed with our proposal?"

She watched his wide smile with confused eyes "Sire, I have never even met your son, what other reason would I have to marry him?"

He chuckled "You ask me to understand the mind of a woman and that is the same as trying to understand Hephaestus's limp…" He smirked as he saw the corner of her lips forming a slight smile "No, I have no pretense to know what you are thinking. But your voice is without resentment, your eyes without hatred, and something tells me that pink tone beneath your eyes isn't due to cosmetic aid…"

She lowered her eyes embarrassed, trying to find her words "I admit, sire, that your son is different from every suitor I've had to accompany in the last few months… Though I did not have the pleasure of his company, he simply heightened my curiosity…" She once again met his gaze, and the humor present only increased her uneasiness "But other than that, I speak with no resentment because I see no other way to save my family, and my eyes are without hatred because…"

"Because?" He asked after a moment of silence.

"Because I fully understand the world of men, and in it, when a crown is at stake no blood should be spared, am I not correct?" she asked. Instead of angering him, the man only smiled. Larissa cursed. She was tempted to add that her father was unfit to rule, that he was defeated in a fair battle, but she held her tongue. She didn't want to give him yet another victory. It was wrong to think that way about her own father, but she couldn't help it. Larissa loved her father with all her heart, but it rued her that his dreams were always bigger than his skills. She caught a glimpse of something moving at her right, then gasped as she saw her future husband, riding his strong black stallion south, the same direction of her father "No…" she whispered as his close to a hundred riders followed. She turned back to the man's father "What treachery is this? Do you forget your word? Why are those men after my…"

"Watch your tone, child, for I have killed men for less…" the words were cold, yet his voice bared more amusement than anger "Do not trouble yourself with these matters… My son has orders to prevent your father from taking the treasury of Pella… _That is all…"_

Larissa did not doubt the man's words, but she did doubt her father would just bend to the will of the young prince. "And if my father resists?"

Deukalos chuckled, aware of his cousin's reputation "He's to be taken, bound, if necessary, but not killed…" His eyes were once again focused and she could see several lines forming on his forehead "The birth of my Kingdom will not be marked by the killing of relatives…"

She nodded and walked away, leaving the man to stand alone. Draco moved to his side the very next instant, but Larissa could not care less about their conversation. Her father had run away, chased by her husband-to-be. Her sisters, for the moment, were safe, and she still retained the slightest shred of nobility, a small touch of influence.

She replayed the whole day in her head, over and over again, until the sun began to set at her right and her maidens called her back to the tent. Her father had suffered a humiliating defeat, while she had achieved what could only be described as a small victory. Indeed, once again she conjured up different actions, different responses she might have given, and all resulted with her either as an outcast or a dead woman.

Eolos had sunk to the depths of his mediocrity, Deukalos had stood high and proud as a lion and Perseus had behaved as a young Alexander, saving the life of his father. But Larissa took comfort in knowing that lilies would grow in Hades before she allowed herself to live on without a triumph. And this, she guessed, would only be the first of many…

* * *

A cold wind swept through the marble chambers within the Royal Palace. The dim candlelight flickered for a moment, then sizzled away. Larissa didn't move away from her window, her elbow resting against the cold white marble columns that formed its flanks. The sun was still up, although dim and hidden behind an ashen cloud.

Three weeks had passed since the battle of Pella Hills, and no words from either her father or her future husband had arrived. When the army of Deukalos arrived upon the capital, it had found but a message from the young prince, claiming that he would follow Eolos out of Macedonian territory. Deukalos had established his Court, making Gyras and Xeones chief Generals and Draco as first minister. The army had been assembled, and within five days departed once more, leaving the old bureaucrat in charge of running the city, while the monarch marched south, towards Corinth, to take back the city from Spartan grasp.

For Larissa, it had been the same routine for the past week. She would rise, eat, and from that moment forth would sit quietly on her wooden stool, gazing into the gardens, just waiting to be called with news of her father. Sometimes she would ride her brown mare, Persephone, across the plains to the south, leading them to small streams and waterfalls, lakes and meadows. It was something to keep her fit, and to watch ahead for news from the southern border. That day was different. She woke up ill, her stomach contracted and seemingly twirled its contents all around her abdomen. She had spent the better part of the day in bed, but could no longer lie back and try to sleep. She had sat by the window to get some fresh air, and had been there since. And now she saw something in the distance…

It moved on the far horizon, on the far pale grassy plains. It was nothing but a black dot, at first, but she could tell that it was moving slowly towards the city. Another black dot went into view. Then another one, and another one, until hundreds of dots covered the southern plains. Her heart raced, knowing full well what those dots were.

"My lady…" One of her handmaidens entered the room, and Larissa silenced her with an open palm "I know…" the noblewoman added "Have my seat in Court ready…"

The girl hurried away, and for endless minutes that seemed a lifetime she saw nothing but flower petals, swiftly being blown away by the approaching winter wind. Then, for the immediate relief of her heart, she saw the black stallion, and the silver armored rider on its back. Her eyes sparkled as she saw the massive beast being led to the Royal paddock, and the young man slowly walking towards the palace. A young boy, not ten years old, rushed to meet him, with a basket filled with apples on his arms. Soon after, a young girl, about her age, followed, carrying a tray of water. Perseus washed his hands and face on the small bronze tray, then grabbed a couple apples, rustling the boy's hair and issuing a few orders to both of them. They ran away, and as he walked by the hedge maze, he stopped, staring at her direction. She blushed and hesitantly walked away from the window, rushing for her wardrobe and looking through her dresses. If she was to be seen in Court, she would need to look her best. A deeper, more intimate thought wished to present her future husband with a sight to remember. She picked a dark purple chiton, with golden details around its ends. She clipped a small brooch laden with amethysts near her right breast, so it held the cloth in place, then undid her ponytail and tied her hair into a bun, fixing a ruby-encrusted hairpin into the hairdo. She gazed upon the polished-bronze mirror, noticing no flaws with her garment, and once again sat on the wooden stool.

Nearly half an hour later, her handmaiden rushed through her door. "Majesty… They request your presence within the Court Halls…"

_Request my presence?_ she mused. Her heartbeat increased and her mind was filled with thoughts of gloom and doom. She hurriedly walked through the stone-laden corridors, across the main hall and into the Megaron, the King's hall, where she found only a handful of familiar faces. Draco was there, as prime minister, and also the General Gyras. But in the center of the room, with his back turned towards her, stood the new prince, Perseus, son of Deukalos, still donning his armor, now less bright and somewhat dented. His body smelled of sweat and mud, his unshaved chin would have made him appear much older than he truly was, if not for the fact his beard was ragged, much as all of those his age, and Larissa could clearly see the man had been in a battle. Not the one at Pella Hills, for those marks, she was sure, would already be healed at the time. A knot formed on her throat.

"My lady…" Draco respectfully and Larissa could swear she saw Perseus' shoulders dropping. Draco stared apologetically at her, and his gaze told the young princess more than words could possibly muster. She walked, proud and strong, around the prime minister, and towards the Macedonian prince. She stood before him, for the first time seeing his face up-close. His pitch black eyes, usually filled with pride and determination, where now dim, lifeless. A deep cut could be seen on the right side of his face, going from an inch above his eyebrow to an inch beneath his cheekbones. A black cord held the two sides of his wound together, and by the looks of it the stitches were done hastily, while in the midst of a battle. He took a step forward, taking her right hand within his left, and opening her palm. Tears reached Larissa's eyes, as the blood-smeared ring of her father, the thick ruby-encrusted ring of the Macedonian King, was laid upon her soft palm. The back of her left hand reached out and slapped the young prince hard on his right cheek. One of his stitches broke, and a line of blood flowed freely across the side of his face. Tears fell down along Larissa's cheeks, and despite her hateful gaze, Perseus did not look away "Do the promises of Deukalos mean nothing to Deukalos' son?"

Draco paled, his hands gesturing for the rest of the men in the room to leave. Perseus did not reply, and simply stared hard at her saddened face, her red eyes. Draco approached them, softly holding the lady's arms and drawing her a few steps backwards. "Lady Larissa…" he began, the three of them alone in the room "Do not be so quick in your judgment… The young prince was not… Y-Young master? W-Where are you going?"

Perseus turned away, and began to stride towards the room's back entrance. His voice was firm, yet his timbre denounced his state of sheer exhaustion "To my room… I must clean this wound and make a new bandage…" he said, without a backwards glance "I have neither time nor patience for the whims of an ill-informed princess…"

Her eyes burned with anger, and she hurried after him. Draco followed, trying in vain to stop the young princess. She stopped Perseus just before his room. Despite the prince's hand already being on the handle, Larissa's hand held the wooden door in frame. "Is the life of my father but a whim to you?"

"Yes…" He said, without a touch of regret, fear, or even feelings, for that matter. He continued, his voice cold and impassive, and he spoke as plainly as a man discussing the weather "But while I could not care less about your father, my word weights more than the heart of Zeus, and I would not break a promise, young dame, especially one made by my father…"

He pushed the doorway inwards, and Larissa noticed, too late, that the doorframe that she so furiously kept in place did not open towards the hall. She fell on her hands and knees into the room. She glared at the man as he stepped by her, shutting the door on Draco's face. "Then how do you explain the bloodied ring?" she said, getting up and patting the dust from her knees.

He untied the strings of his breastplate, letting it fall soundly onto the cold stone floor. His black chiton was drenched in sweat, sticking the fabric to his fast developing chest and abdomen. He removed his wrist guards in two swift movements, then threw them onto his bed. Larissa became flustered, her cheeks flushed beet-red. The prince before her was undressing, and she was in the same room. She would not walk away, for she had much to ask, he had much to explain. She did not know what to do.

Someone knocked on the door, and Larissa thanked the gods, for she was sure his chiton would be the next to lie on the floor. Perseus walked past her and opened the door. The same slave girl that had brought him water to wash his face in the gardens, not an hour before, now entered the room, a wooden bucket within her arms. Three slaves carried a large tub of water into the room, and from the steam it emanated it was apparently a warm bath. Her face crimsoned even further, if it was still possible, and as the three servants left the room, she found her voice stuttering a demand, her voice breaking with every syllable "Y-You… You still haven't answered my question…"

He raised his brow, puzzlingly staring at the princess before him. Here she was, about to witness a man bathe naked and still she retained a measure of composure, a measure of defiance. He grinned. He liked that characteristic in a woman.

Larissa turned her head away, noticing his appraising stare and approving grin. "He fled past Larissa…" He said, finally untying the shoulder strings of his chiton, letting the garment fall to the floor. His naked, sweaty, battered body seemed to shine in the room's dim light. Her face was directed elsewhere, but Perseus noted with more than a touch of excitement that frequently her eyes focused on his features, both upper and lower. "He went towards Thermon…" He continued, apparently unfazed by her embarrassment. He slowly walked to the tub and immersed himself within it "But the city was besieged by Romans…"

She raised her eyebrow curiously, and her stomach churned with the new information "Romans?" he nodded "What happened afterwards?"

"Not being able to enter the city, he led his men into the Roman encampment, to discuss an alliance with their emissary. He offered Macedonia as a protectorate, in exchange for his throne back…"

She felt her cheeks reddening, and a huge sense of shame, mixed with good bit of guilt, began to weight on her chest "Seeing your father had brought a hundred cavalrymen at his tail, the Romans thought, correctly, might I add, that the costs for returning him to his throne would be far greater than the possible riches achieved. They killed him, and offered his head as a gift to the new King of Macedon…"

The horrible image came into mind, and her tears once again began to flow freely "And then?"

"I refused, then led an attack to their positions near the eastern gate. We broke their hold and the city was able to send riders to aid us. We flanked them and began to push them away. The attack was eventually repelled, and we were forced back into the city. But with another hundred men or so aiding the defensive force, the Romans found it too much to handle."

Larissa cast him a doubtful stare, but before she could continue he spoke up "I know it seems ridiculous that a hundred men were able to defend a city against thousands. But believe me when I tell you this: The Wolves are the elite, the top of the Macedonian army. If they covered a wall no siege tower could take it by force. They broke the gates five days afterwards, and street by street, alleyway by alleyway we fought. We held our ground on the central square, and for two days and two nights we gave no ground. The Romans threw wave after wave of soldiers at us, arrows rained down with ferocious precision, but still we held on. It was then that a group of riders from Larissa arrived. They attacked at the heart of the Roman advance, the breached gates, and, now, caught between a hammer and an anvil, the Romans fell apart. Their death cries were music to the ears of the city's population, who had barricaded themselves on the few houses still safely at our backs. They routed and their General fled."

She covered her face with her hands, and her muffled voice showed a glimpse of desperation "And my father?" she wiped the tears away from her eyes with the edge of her tunic.

"We found his body at the Roman camp, lit a funeral pyre, and spread his ashes on the plains west of Thermon…"

"You speak of noble deeds…" She said, looking away as the slave girl rubbed a sponge across his shoulders, then used a small crescent-shaped tool to scrap away the sweat and other impurities "But my mind feels with resentment whenever I think of you…"

"Resentment?" He asked, dumbfounded "Of what?"

"Your father waged a war, killed thousands of Macedonians, so he could steal the crown that rightfully belonged to Eolos, son of Antigonos, my father, the heir to the throne of Pella… And after my father had been defeated, as if it wasn't enough, you, the very prince charming Draco so gallantly praises, chased him halfway across Hellas and into a land under Roman yoke!"

Perseus sighed, waving the slave girl away. After they were alone in the room, the prince continued, his voice weak and bland "Only the weak see failure in greatness, and see fault in those bereft of any…"

"What is so great about killing your own uncle to reclaim your cousin as wife?" She asked. Larissa's heart beat faster than a bird's wings, and with every word she uttered she hated herself more and more. She was not like this. She had grudgingly acknowledged Deukalos' superiority on that day, at Pella fields. She had not the slightest bit of hatred for the young man. The exact opposite, her mind was filled only with a touch of curiosity and perhaps even excitement. Still, her forked tongue went on with a life of its own, and only her tearful eyes revealed her true feelings "What is so great about claiming a throne that does not belong to you in the first place?"

"Alexander himself, on his deathbed, when asked about who should rule after his death, answered only: _the strongest!"_ Those were her exact thoughts! Yet she could not help herself, and with every ounce of pride she had left, her accursed pride, the very poison that kept her from admitting publicly her father's failures, that kept her from apologizing to the man before her for her brashness, the very venom that drove her tongue, she proposed a challenge: "Do you truly wish to marry me?" She looked down at the bathing man, then smiled mischievously at his positive nod "Then bring me the head of the Roman…"

She stormed out of the room, and outside, both the prime minister Draco and the physician Akhmosis stared, wide eyed, at the departing princess. Perseus only laughed, looking desperately towards the room's black marble ceiling "Aphrodite, what have I done to deserve this?"

"I apologize, my lord…" Draco shyly entered the room, making way for Akhmosis to walk forward and check the recently open wound. Perseus shifted uncomfortably as new stitches were made. Draco, his gaze down and his features grim, continued "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I am afraid I overheard your conversation with the young princess... And her ludicrous request… Maybe my choice was poor… Maybe one of her younger sisters will prove to be a better wife…"

Perseus chuckled, remembering Ceres and Camilla were not even in their teens. He shook his head "No, minister, your choice was precise…" He turned to his Egyptian friend "Did you see her eyes, Akh?"

The bald man nodded "Her eyes were full of regret… She didn't believe a word of what she had spoken… Stubborn girl, is she not?"

"Indeed…" Perseus smiled, amusingly "I should not chide you, Draco, but congratulate you, and offer my thanks…"

The prime minister bowed, respectfully. Perseus turned to the old General "Order Xeones to muster the guard…"

"Young master!" the two men said in unison. It was the Draco who spoke up "Surely you do not plan to actually meet the Romans in battle!"

"I do… It is the only way to dissuade her from her brash ways…" He said, smiling "She will understand the consequences of her mindless words, and next time will either hold her tongue, or swallow her pride…"

"You would have her stop being a prideful hag by putting your own life at risk to prove your point!"

Perseus smirked at Akhmosis "As I said, I should congratulate councilor Draco, for he has found me quite a perfect match…"

* * *

Larissa sat miserable upon the soft linen sheets of her bed. Since that day, nearly two weeks before, that wretched day in which she allowed her tongue to roam free and her reason to shrink away, she had not walked beyond her room's doorframes. She had demanded a task from the young prince, a task she was sure he would turn down. To face the Romans with few troops aside from the Royal Guard was madness. Still, it was a madness he hastily complied with, and so, young Perseus, as Heracles before him, would embark on a perilous journey to accomplish a suicidal labor. He risked his life in doing so, and she was a broken woman as she heard the mustering orders, the levy parties, crossing the countryside in search for able spearmen, the squealing of the horses as they were crumpled within the Royal paddock. She had scolded him for seeking war, then demanded precisely that as a dowry.

The arrangements had been made, and despite Deukalos' absence the wedding would take place that very night. The next day, Perseus would lead his five thousand royal guardsmen, his ten thousand levy pikemen and his two thousand horses through Thermon, who had, after the heroic defense of the city, agreed to become a Macedonian protectorate. From the Greek city, they would set out and attack Apollonia, the only Roman province on Hellenic lands. It was undoubtedly the hiding place of the murderer, Titus Brutus, and the Brutii army. She frowned. Weird folk, these Romans… They split their land in four bits and hand three of them, far largest than the remaining, to notable families: the Julii, the Brutii and the Scipii. They were still under the authority of the central province, Rome itself, but other than that they were free to muster armies, build cities, wage wars, create or break alliances. If one waged war, so did them all. Still, she wondered, how long would it be before one family grows too far? How long would it be before the armies of the Julii march upon Brutii cities? Or Scipii? The world of men would always remain the same. One would rise and devour the rest, until one even mightier would take down and replace such behemoth. The cycle of destruction went on under Ares' cruel laughter.

A child in the gardens bellow laughed out loud, and she noticed the young servant of Perseus had befriended the stable boys, and they giggled happily as they chased each other around, wooden swords on each of their hands. Killers in training, she thought, but dismissed the idea. Had she not in her earlier days, done the same? The times with her cousin Cleopatra in the flower-laden ponds of the palace were amongst some of her fondest memories. Longing eyes stared forth, as the young prince left the palace kitchens, throwing each of the children a piece of a large, round bread. They caught the snack in mid air, and sat alongside Perseus in one of the garden's many stone benches. The man, dressed in a plain white chiton, faked pain and misery as one of the boy's sword hammered against his chest. They rose and laughed, claiming to have outwitted the Prince of Macedonia.

He laughed and walked away, the wind blowing his hair away from his face and showing clearly the white line that traced the right side of his face. The wound had healed quickly, and would have done so even quicker had her slap not broke one of the stitches holding the skin in place. Perseus… Larissa bit her lower lip, wondering just how the man's mere presence changed her from a lovely lady of the Macedonian high society, into a vengeful witch. Her thoughts turned to their wedding, only a few hours away. After the quick ceremony, and a traditional dance, they would retire to their room, and would spend their first night together. She shivered at the prospect, knowing full well that after tonight, she would be bound for the rest of her life to the young man. Who cares? a deeper, darker part of her mind spoke up - He will be dead within a week or two, anyway.

Her stomach tightened, and her eyes watered once more. It was her fault… If he should die he would do so following her will. She rested her head against a soft cushion, and a few minutes afterwards she dozed off. A stressful day followed, she would need her full strength to bear it all.

The hours went by and her room, once a refuge of solitude, became a fountain of chaos. Her stylized chiton, colored in white and light pink tones, was pinned together in three different places with pearl-embroidered golden brooches. Her earrings and necklace followed the same pattern, with golden frames and pearl decorations. Handmaidens powdered her face and colored her lips. Slave girls exposed rings and wristbands, sandals and hairpins. Larissa chose those she found suited better the occasion, and nearly as soon as she had finished her preparations a light knock indicated the time had come.

Handmaidens dropped rose petals throughout the length of her path, and as soon as the heavy wooden doors of the megaron were opened, she knew her fate was sealed. Dozens of eyes turned to face her. She saw aristocratic families, former suitors, childhood friends, as well as many armored men, Generals, Officers and even foot soldiers, and a clear way before her was opened. Before the throne, an old man, with a long silver beard and long white hair, tied up in a single braid at the back of his head, awaited alongside Draco and her future husband. She hesitated, not in distress but in own self reflection. In a few minutes the _future husband_ bit would be outdated.

She strode towards the trio, gazing directly at Perseus' eyes, not even blinking. She knew some of her former suitors were there only to draw a secret stare, a secret wink, an indication of a possible future affair while the prince was away to war. If she didn't loathe them all, she might have actually considered a sideway glance, all in the sake of a slight tease.

Her chiton twirled behind her as she turned to face the young prince. Fire burned through her eyes, but not the fires of hatred. They shone with determination. A hundred souls had gathered to watch the marriage of their future rulers, and she dared not even flinch. The same pride that led her to argue with him, the same pride that had asked him to die, now ordered her forward, to make the most of her precarious situation. A flicker of color caught her eye, and for the first time that night she tore her eyes away from Perseus. Her sisters, dressed in lavish multi-colored dresses, jumped up in joy. Larissa smiled warmly at the pair. I guess to their minds, their sister marrying will always be a date to be celebrated, she thought. Her mind drifted even further: Why shouldn't it be? With this I consolidate my position as future monarch, and besides, he isn't bad looking. Her eyes drifted towards his, and the sheer ferocity, the sheer intensity of his gaze caused her cheeks to slightly redden. He cupped both her hands in his.

"Ok then…" both their gazes turned to the old man. He grinned warmly, almost paternally. Still, Perseus raised an eyebrow in silent doubt, for reasons known immediately afterwards "Go ahead… Kiss…"

She widened her eyes, turning to the young prince, who could only laugh and stare at the ground. He gave her an apologetic glance and spoke to the old man "I thought you knew how to do this…"

"I do!" He responded, in a tone of sheer outrage "I just wanted a bit of love to break the ice…"

He chuckled once more, then softly rubbed the back of her hands with his thumbs. She looked up, seeing the humor in his eyes "Bear with him…" he said, then speaking more seriously to the old priest "Just get on with it…"

"Alright, alright…" He cleared his throat. The guests of the wedding seemed out of place, not understanding at all the humorous tone "Almighty Zeus, Tenebrous Hades, Gallant Poseidon, Merciless Hera, Fearless Artemis, Graceful Hermes, Honorable Apollo, Wise Athena, Skilled Hephaestus, Valiant Ares, Gorgeous Aphrodite…" he rolled his eyes upwards as he mentioned the goddess of love "Ah, Aphrodite…" He stared emptily into nothingness, seemingly remembering old times. Perseus woke him from his daydreams with a kick to the shin. Larissa chuckled "Humpf, yes, yes… Where were we?" He stopped for a while "Ah, yes… Gods of Olympus, before thee cometh two younglings, two mere mortals like this who speaks to thee… We seek thy grace and approval, thy blessings upon their lives… May they live a life of glories, of riches, of childbearing and love." He stopped his speech and leaned in whispering so only the couple could hear "Not necessarily in this order…" He winked then turned back "Give us a sign of things to come, show thy approval of this union with your godly powers!"

It had been set that at that precise moment, maidens would drop petals from the megaron's upper balconies, a traditional occurrence in royal weddings. Before they could even open the sacks of petals, a thunder roared against the distant skyline. Then another one, and a few more, until a slight haze began to fall upon the Macedonian capital. The priest nodded, his face contorted in a mix of fear and amazement "You folks sure know how to plan weddings…"

Every hair in Larissa's body straightened, and her stern mask of nobility fell, leaving only the awed gasp of the teenager. Murmurs spread across the megaron, and nobles everywhere began to wonder the hidden meaning of such omen. Was Zeus angry, or was he pleased?

"Hush, hush…" the priest chided, holding out a menacing finger to silence the guests "Let us continue… Almighty Zeus thy sign was clear, thy roar powerful… No gods oppose such union… Are there any mortals that wish to do so?" He watched the mass of guests, noticing no protests "Very well…" from within his toga, he withdrew a sack with two silver bands, his broader and plain, hers with a single ruby jewel. Perseus stared puzzlingly at the old priest "My gift to you…"

He held her band within his hands, and placed it on her left ring finger. She matched his move "Well then…" He watched them in expectation. Perseus raised his eyebrows in a questioning look "Yes?"

The priest sighed and dropped his shoulders "Kiss, you bloody fools… lips to lips, hand to hips, lower even… And you need some tongue to get the mood goi…"

"Just get on with the ceremony you old fool…" Draco said at last, voicing the thoughts of the whole megaron.

The priest's angry stare met the eyes of Draco, and the old councilor found out much to his surprise that he could not sustain it "It is part of the ceremony, you wretch!"

"Enough…" Perseus said, rather plainly. He took a step further, then held the woman just above her waist. Her hands rested against his arms, and both leaned in. The softness of her lips overwhelmed him. It was his first kiss, as it was hers. Not that he didn't have the chance to kiss before, but kissing a camp whore was always widely regarded as a good way to contact some sort of plague. Wanting to remain healthy, he avoided them altogether. What other woman could be found within his military camp? He put those thoughts away, not fully wanting those memories to resurface, and looking to enjoy every second of this new sensation.

The front of his face was warm, and his eyes felt immediately heavy. It was intoxicating, even more than some of Akhmosis' herbs, and he felt himself being drawn in further and further. As their tongues met, a loud coughing sound broke them apart. He looked around, suddenly not remembering where he was. The jealous looks of the younger, the bored look of the middle-aged, and the warming appreciating stare of the elder reminded him quickly enough. He was on a megaron, filled with people.

As they broke apart, a torrent of emotions also befell the young princess. Her heart had raced the moment they kissed, her knees had weakened the moment their tongues touched. As all princesses, Larissa was kept in a state of virginal isolation, and this first kiss was but a first step into an unexplored world, the world of relationships, the world of affection, the world of companionship. His lips felt strong, reassuring. His arms had moved slowly, around her waist and up her back. Was this the same man as before? The man who so got on her nerves, the man who flustered her with every word spoken? Yes… and that was precisely why he stood out. He managed to irritate her just as often as he was able to charm her. She smiled warmly at him and chuckled. He stared at her, wondering what was on her mind. She just shook her head. They would make quite a pair.

"The union is set!" The old man yelled "Consecrated by the Gods! Forever shall the throne of Pella be tied by their lineage!"

The guests applauded, and each approached to congratulate the couple. It was well over an hour later that Larissa was left alone, in their new room. A large bed had been prepared for their first night as a couple, and as she sat upon it in expectation for the arrival of her husband. She heard his voice in the corridor, and made sure her hair was still perfectly set.

Outside, Perseus talked to the old man, the old priest who had performed the ceremony "The High Priest of Pella was not pleased…" he whispered, but with no sign of either regret or reproving in his voice "It has been a tradition in Macedonia to have the kings marry beneath the Temple of Zeus, in a ceremony performed by the High Conclave… And to this moment I am yet to understand how you've managed to talk me into it…"

The old man grinned "But it was worth it wasn't it? Didn't it work out better than you had believed? Didn't it help break the ice around the princess?"

Perseus chuckled "Why didn't I kill you at those woods, Iolos?" He rubbed his forehead, wanting the day to end "Anyway, tomorrow I head west, and Xeones tells me you've asked to come along…"

"I've never been to Rome…"

"We're not heading towards Rome…" Perseus explained "Apollonia is as far as we go… I mean to kill the Brutii heir and get out…"

Iolos smirked, knowingly "Sure thing… It'll do…"

Perseus shook his head and made for his bedroom door. He stopped at seeing the man was still by his side "You follow me to war, not to bed…"

Iolos grumbled and walked away. The young prince could have sworn he heard him complain about the unfairness of the situation, but made no big deal of it. He entered his room, and the beautiful frame of the princess made his breath get caught in his throat. This is your wife, his heart told him, and from this day forth she is the only woman you will love. _Love_ was a strong word, especially in reference to someone you've met not a month before. But then again, why not, he asked himself. Why not love her if she was willing to return the feeling? He walked to stand before her, then knelt so their faces were at the same height. Her warm breath touched his pale skin, her nervous eyes stared pleadingly into his. She urged him to guide her, to gently introduce her into this new world. He smiled, knowing full well this world of companionship was as new to him as it was to her. He leaned in to kiss her, using his weight to push her down on the bed. His movements were not rough, as that of a rapist, a sort of man he had seen too many times in battlefield. He caressed the back of her head, and used his free arm to encircle her waist, bringing her closer to him. Her legs encircled his, and in the dim candlelight they were the image of a married couple.

She was nervous, and from the occasional slip and mumbled apology, she could tell he was as well. Larissa's mind was blank, her logic lost. It was useless to think of revenge, of resentment, even her father's face was unable to creep its way into her consciousness. She enjoyed every bit of her pleasure, and endured every ounce of awkwardness. She could not chide him for not knowing full well what to do, for if she had taken the lead she would have no clue either. They were young, and they were in the process of discovery.

She only hoped this process would last, that they would spend enough time together to go through this whole experience. That the price for the death of her father's murderer would not fall too heavily on her husband's shoulders.

Caught in the turmoil of her own emotions, Larissa wept.

* * *

"Royal Guard, march!" Five thousand gold shields lined up across the paved roads out of Pella. The rotting corpse of an eagle had been found just below the city's gates, good omens, the priests said, for the eagle is the symbol of Rome and this surely meant the Romans would fall under the Asgeard Star. Perseus cursed under his breath. He imagined every departing army was greeted by omens such as this, and if half of them were true there'd be no defeated armies on Hellenic grounds. But his mind was not focused on the dead eagle. It wasn't focused on the priest's adulation or the soldiers' formations. His mind raced back to the night before, after he and Larissa had… bedded for the first time. Tears fell down her face as she urged him, begged him to let go of this expedition, to forget her request, which she had already admitted to be a fruit of her brash nature. He still remembered her face as he told her no, and it ate away his heart to think of it again.

It was more than stubbornness, it was more than a means to teach her a lesson. Rome was hardly ever taken seriously by the Greeks, yet that is to be expected by such vain and self-centered people. But growing up in Bylazora, amongst barbarians and merchants of all corners of the world, Perseus was more than a little concerned. Their armies were self sufficient machines that moved with startling speed and killed with terrifying precision. Their ruling body was a Senate that considered Rome's greatness before even their own personal gains, something no Greek city had been able to achieve. Though divided between three families, the Romans still preserved a sense of unity that was unheard of in Hellenic lands. They needed to be stopped at the first opportunity, and defeating a broken army after a massacre at Thermon was the perfect opportunity. He would crush the Brutii and take Apollonia as a forward base for Macedonian expansion. Every ounce of heart he had wished it to be so. Every bit of logic within him told a different tale.

Sometimes a leader must inspire men, his father had told him, no matter how stupid such action was. Defeating a Roman army with a Greek force was one of such stupid acts, a stupid act that would serve as a wake-up call for many Hellenic cities. They should not think only of self-preservation. Only a unified Kingdom such as Macedonia stood a chance against such might. It would make life easier for his father. Future negotiations with Athens and Sparta would have to consider the Roman threat, and the prospect of either uniting under Macedonian _guidance _or falling under Roman yoke.

Hopefully his father would finish with Kleomenes before the end of spring, and would send him a few men to reinforce his position. He had no hopes of maintaining Apollonia for a long period of time. The Romans would come, wave after wave. His main thought was to sue for peace. After a few hard fought battles, the Brutii could agree with a pact of some sorts, perhaps even an alliance. If Apollonia was to be taken, so it could be forfeit in future negotiations, then so be it. He would strike at the heart of the Roman Empire: its pride. A young man, still in his teens, would have beaten the Eagle armies of the Italian Peninsula. With a touch of excitement, the thought came to him: a victory would not only benefit the Macedonian cause. His own claim to the throne, his own future, his lineage, would be somewhat secured if the legend around him grew.

Legends were formed around great men, and as he stared at the determined faces of the marching men before him, the stern looks, the deep frown of a man ready to kill for the sake of motherland, he saw nothing but thousands of great men.

He whistled and heeled the flanks of his horse. Rushing back alongside the column until the gateways of the city, where a small group awaited to say their goodbyes. Draco stood next to his wife, and in between the two sat the diminished, almost weak, figure of his wife. He pulled the reins of his steed, then dismounted, shaking hands with politicians and soldiers' wives. He grabbed Larissa's hand and led her a few yards away, holding his horse's reins as he did so. As she met his stare, Perseus could see the lines her tears had left in her white makeup, the redness in her eyes, the shades underneath them. "I have told you…" He began "I do this not for me, not for you, but for _us_. _Our_ future throne, our kingdom, our motherland…"

"What _us_ will we have if you die?" she proclaimed, her voice filled with righteous anger. It was not a voice to match the face of a weak girl. It was the voice of a queen "I am not with child, what lineage can you protect if none exist?"

"If all ends up well, I will be home before the start of summer… I have explained you the plans, the urgency in them… Besides, I have made my promise: I will bring you the head of the Roman. Trust me on this…"

She sighed, then stared at him with resignation "Do you remember that Spartan tale, of the mother telling her son to return with his shield or opponent?" He nodded "I don't care if you return with your shield. You can return naked for all I care… Just return… Come back to me…"

"I will…" He kissed her deeply, holding her small frame within his powerful shoulders "By Aphrodite's tits, I will…"

She slapped him hard across the face, harder than he had anticipated. He stared at her in confusion, though a smile still graced his features "Don't you ever even think of another woman's tits…"

He glanced at her mischievous look and with a single jump went atop the stallion once more. He smirked "Before the wedding Massilus told me of married life…"

"And what did he say?"

"That it is like being castrated, with the woman holding on to your balls for safekeeping…" She chuckled "Didn't understand 'till now…"

"Then come back to me, so I can return them…" She blew him a kiss as he led his mount away, looking at his form, fading in the horizon, until it halted and she could see him staring up. Somewhere above her an eagle cried, and she stared at the soaring beast. It was the second omen of the day. She wondered the meaning of it all, but didn't dwell on it too much.

Somewhere in the distance, a real eagle awaited, an army just waiting for her husband to come.

But which eagle would it be, the one soaring high above them, or the one rotting bellow?

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**Author's Notes****: Second chapter of this fic, and quite frankly, I think I'll work on it more than Power of Choices in the next month or so. I just have more ideas for it. I've hit a halt in my KOTOR fanfic, and I'm struggling to find inspiration for the work that would need to be done: a major remodeling, with the inclusion of characters and plot twists in the chapters already done. Which is why, as clarified in my Profile, I'm looking for a beta-reader, mainly for POC, but if so offered for all the other fics. If you've read my stories and feel you could help me out, not only on grammar, but also in plot-development, contact me. All ideas are welcome, and every comment is useful.**

**R&R**

**BSL**


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